\ 


METROPOLITAN  EDITION. 

I        ; , 


I   PROMESSI    SPOSI;    , 


OB, 


THE. BETROTHED   l^VERS. 

t 

A   MILANESE    STORY   OF   THE    SEVENTEENTH   CENTURY. 
•' 

AS 
TRANSLATED  FOR  THE   METROPOLITAN,  FROM   THE   ITALIAN  OF  ALESSANDRO.MANZONI, 

BY  G.  W.  FEATHERSTONHAUGH. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  of  1831,  by  Duff  Green,  in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District 
Court  of  the  District  of  Columbia. 


WASHINGTON: 
STEREOTYPED  AND  PUBLISHED  BY  DUFF  GREEN. 

1834. 


i 

I 


THE    METROPOLITAN; 


A    MISCELLANY    OF    LITERATURE    AND    SCIENCE. 


Vol.  IX. 


"Washington,  June  21,  1834. 


No.  1. 


PREFATORY   NOTICE. 

THE  Translator  of  the  powerful  and  beauti- 
ful story  now  presented  to  the  American  pub- 
lic, would  remark,  that  whilst  he  has,  in  no 
instance,  felt  himself  at  liberty  to  overlook  any 
of  those  passages  of  his  author,  which  some 
have  thought  were  the  blemishes  of  a  work  too 
long  for  a  modern  romance,  yet  he  feels  that 
an  explanation  is  owing  to  his  readers,  for 
omitting  altogether  a  version  of  the  "  inlro- 
duzione"  which  Manzoni  has  prefixed  to  his 
Promessi  Sposi. 

Following  that  example  of  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
which  has  not  received  the  sanction  of  the 
critical  admirers  of  that  great  writer,  the  Ita- 
lian novelist,  believing  that  one  fiction  should 
be  introduced  by  another,  has  had  recourse  to 
the  cumbrous  and  fatiguing  invention,  of  sup- 
posing that  his  work  was  written  by  an  anony- 
mous cotemporary  of  the  period  of  his  story  : 
a  sort  of  Italian  Clutterbuck,  of  the  17th  cen- 
tury, a  rhetorical  Secentista,  of  whose  turgid 
and  conceited  style  he  gives  an  example  in  the 
opening  of  his  introduction,  and  of  which  the 
following  is  a  specimen. 

"  History  may  be  truly  defined  to  be  an  illus- 
trious war  waged  against  time,  where  the  years 
which  had  been  made  captive,  and  which  had 
even  ceased  to  exist,  are  snatched  from  his 
bands,  recalled  to  life,  and  reviewed  and  array- 
ed again  in  order  of  battle.  But  the  famous 
champions  which  in  such  lists  gather  harvests 
of  palms  and  laurels,  bear  away  only  the  most 
magnificent  and  brilliant  spoils,  embalming 
with  their  pens  the  undertakings  of  princes, 
potentates,  and  high  personages,  and  drawing 
with  the  exquisite  needle  of  genius,  those 
threads  of  gold  and  silk  which  form  a  per- 
petual embroidery  of  glorious  actions." 

This  introduction  falls  so  far  short  of  the 
work  itself  in  both  vigor  and  humor,  and  the 
fiction  is  so  superfluous  and  troublesome,  that 
persons  of  taste  upon  hastily  running  it  over, 
might  easily  conceive  an  unfavorable  opinion 
of  the  rich  pages  it  precedes,  and  thus  by  a 
very  natural  prejudice,  deprive  themselves  of 
the  rare  gratification,  of  reading  a  work,  which 
has  raised  its  author  to  a  level  even  with  Cer- 
vantes. This  has  been  one  reason  why  the 
introduction  has  not  been  translated,  which  it 
would  have  been,  if  it  had  been  at  all  connect- 
ed with  the  story,  or  had  possessed  any  parti- 
cular merit  of  its  own. 

No  one  can  engage  in  the  perusal  of  this 
work,  without  feeling  how  profoundly  Man- 
zoni is  acquainted  with  the  springs  of  human 


action,  some  of  the  most  potent  of  which  he 
has  touched  with  unrivaled  skill,  in  the  de- 
velopment of  a  story  singular  for  its  simplicity. 
A  young  maiden  and  her  lover,  of  the  moun- 
tainous district  of  the  lake  Como,  born  and 
reared  in  the  humblest  walks  of  life,  are,  as 
the  title  implies,  the  personages,  in  the  illus- 
tration of  wnose  fate  and  adventures,  so  many 
powerful  incidents,  and  characters  of  such 
marked  originality,  have  been  created.  On 
the  eve  of  the  celebration  of  their  humble  nup- 
tials, at  the  very  moment  when  there  appeared  » 
no  delusion  in  their  prospects  of  happiness, 
their  misfortunes  begin.  A  nobleman, — and 
this  was  at  a  period  when  the  nobles  entertain- 
ed a  retinue  of  ruffians  and  Bravos,  wretches, 
who  paid  by  shedding  the  blood  of  any  who 
were  obnoxious  to  their  patrons,  for  the  pro- 
tection and  immunity  they  received  from 
them, — cast  his  destroying  eye  upon  this 
maiden,  and  practising,  through  two  of  his 
ruffians,  upon  the  cowardly  nature  of  the 
parish  priest,  their  marriage  was  interrupted, 
and  themselves  separated  and  driven  from 
their  homes. 

The  work  opens  with  this  part  of  their  ad- 
ventures, and  certainly  nothing  was  ever  more 
characteristically  described,  or  managed  with 
more  spirit.  Don  Abbondio,  the  parish  priest, 
is  worthy  of  the  pen  of  Cervantes ;  but  he  is 
not  the  only  genuine  original  in  the  work,  we 
have  two  other  priests,  Friar  Christopher,  and 
Cardinal  Federigo  Borromuo,  two  of  the  finest 
creations  of  the  human  mind,  if  indeed  we 
may  so  speak  of  this  last,  whose  rare  virtues 
when  living,  made  him  the  object  of  universal 
love  and  reverence.  If  Don  Abbondio,  by  his 
selfish  conduct,  seems  to  be  an  evidence,  of 
the  little  influence  a  long  life  passed  in  the  ex- 
ercise of  religious  duties  may  have  over  the 
human  heart,  how  skilfully  has  our  author 
erased  the  impression,  by  the  affecting  history 
and  devoted  conduct  of  Friar  Christopher,  a 
man  in  whom  the  strongest  worldly  affections 
had  been  perfectly  subdued  by  the  power  of 
religion.  In  nothing  is  the  talent  of  Manzoni 
shown  more  conspicuously,  than  in  the  con- 
trast between  these  two  men,  both  of  them 
priests.  Who  can  resist  laughing,  in  the  most 
unrestrained  way,  at  the  comic  and  most  na- 
tural manner,  in  which  the  cowardly  Don  Ab- 
bondio expresses  his  apprehensions  ?  It  is  the 
chord  of  Sancho  Panza  which  he  strikes  in  us. 
But  who  can  accompany  Friar  Christopher  to 
the  scene  of  his  voluntary  humiliation,  see 
him  on  his  knees  before  the  brother  of  the 
proud  man  he  had  slain,  and  enter  into  the 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


touching  scene  that  follows,  without  bein<* 
overpowered  by  emotions  of  compassion  and 
admiration  ?  No  one  possessed  of  much  sen- 
sibility can  read  tlu's  scene  without  thrilling 
emotions. 

But  it  is  in  that  still  more  solemn  scene  be- 
tween the  Cardinal  and  the  Un-named  that  we 
are  made  conscious  of  the  mighty  power  of  re- 
ligion over  the  human  heart.  If  Manzoni  had 
•written  nothing  more  than  this  last  scene,  and 
the  subsequent  one  between  the  Cardinal  and 
Don  Abbondio,  where  Christian  virtue  is  so 
resplendently  set  out,  from  the  lips  of  a  man 
whose  practice  was  in  harmony  with  the 
sanctity  of  his  doctrine,  this  story  might  have 
claimed  to  possess  pages  devoted  to  the  most 
sublime  religions  instruction,  unrivaled  in 
any  work  belonging  to  modern  literature. 

And  who  could  have  anticipated,  in  the  con- 
duct of  a  story  aiming  to  relate  the  humble  ad- 
ventures of  two  poor  young  people,  the  intro- 
duction of  such  a  character  as  the  Un-  named? 
A  conception  of  the  most  magnificent  order. 
Another  Napoleon,  not  sending  his  mandates 
to  the  kings  and  princes  of  the  confederation 
of  the  Rhine,  but  to  the  lawless  nobles  sur- 
rounding him  and  their  dependants.  The  Em- 
peror of  all  the  oppressors  of  the  day,  the 
head  of  a  devoted  army  of  Bravos,  who  had 
triumphed  over  all  law  so  long,  that  his  own 
will  was  now  his  only  law.  And  yet,  at  the 
very  moment  we  are  expecting  from  this  mo-n- 
ster  in  the  human  shape,  the  consummation  of 
the  worst  of  villanies,  we  find  him  so  segre- 
gated from  other  men  by  his  bad  pre-eminence, 
that  he  was  beginning  to  be  oppressed  by  a 
sense  of  his  solitariness.  How  admirably  lias 
the  author  depicted  his  true  condition,  how 
minutely  has  lie  laid  the  operations  of  the 
human  heart  open,  and  with  what  consum- 
mate skill  has  he  not  availed  himself  of  his 
own  creation,  not  only  in  the  conduct  and  em- 
bellishment of  his  story,  but  by  throwing,  in 
the  conversion  of  this  inexorable  sinner,  a 
moral  splendor  over  it,  which  contains  nothing 
that  is  false  or  exaggerated. 

In  Gertrude,  we  nave  another  equally  sur- 
prising evidence  of  the  power  of  this  writer. 
The  episode  devoted  to  her,  stands  in  equally 
bold  relief.  This  victim  of  parental  tyranny 
and  self- irresolution,  is  alike  conspicuous, 
where  the  darkest  shades  of  human  conduct, 
and  the  most  delicate  touches  of  feminine 
character,  vie  with  each  other.  She  forms  a 
picture  where  the  deepest  tones  of  Carra- 
vaggio,  and  the  most  exquisite  finishing  of 
Leonardo  da  Vinci,  harmoniously  meet :  we 
feel  in  the  contemplation  of  it,  as  we  do  when 
examining  the  St.  Jerome  of  this  last  great 
master,  we  know  not  which  to  admire  most, 
the  solemn  effect  produced  by  the  whole  pic- 
ture, or  the  almost  superhuman  fidelity  with 
which  each  particular  hair  of  his  beard  is 
finished. 

But  it  is  not  upon  individual  character  our 
author  exhausts  his  power,  he  hao  the  talent 
aj  well  as  the  ambition  of  a  Michael  Angelo, 


making  what  would  be  principal  with  most 
artists,  subordinate  in  his  own  creations  ;  thus 
Manzoni,  carried  away  by  his  own  strength, 
puts,  towards  the  close  of  the  work,  his  per- 
sonages in  the  back  ground,  as  it  were,  to 
place  great  historical  events  before  us.  He 
paints  a  whole  people  delivered  over  to  fa- 
mine, pestilence  and  death,  and  paints  with  an 
effect  so  horrible  as  to  remind  us  of  the  power 
of  Murillo.  We  see  the  emaciated  and  enfee- 
bled crowds,  perishing  from  starvation,  dragg- 
ing themselves  by  day  through  th«  streets  of 
Milan,  and  at  night  we  hear  them  howling, 
and  wailing,  in  the  last  agonies  of  an  attenuat- 
ed existence.  Scarce,  however,  has  he  pre- 
sented this  harrowing  and  raost  moving  spec- 
tacle to  us,  than,  as  if  yielding  to  the  unre- 
strained1 force  of  his  talent,  he  withdraws  it, 
and  presents  in  its  place,  one  still  more  horri- 
ble, and  which  calls  imperiously  for  all  that  is 
left  to  us  of  human  sympathy.  He  presents 
to  us  the  enfeebled  survivors  of  the  famine, 
suddenly  become  victims  of  the  worst  possible 
kind  of  desolation,  and  miserably  perishing 
under  the  rage  of  that  pestilence,  that  ravaged 
the  fair  plains  of  Italy,  and  almost  depopulated 
Milan  in  1630,  The  grandeur  of  this  picture  is- 
inimhable,  and  our  author  has  availed  himself 
in  a  very  happy  manner  of  this  remarkable 
passage  in  history,  as  well  to  place  in  relief 
some  incidents  both  of  a  terrible  and  touching 
nature,  as  to  bring  to  a  close,  a  plot  as  happily 
conceived,  as  it  is  ably  executed. 

If  there  is  a  prominent  blemish  in  this  at- 
tractive work,  it  is  to  be  found  in  the  tediously 
minute  descriptions,  of  those  actions  of  its  per- 
sonages, which  have  little  or  nothing  to  do 
with  the  conduct  of  the  story  :  if  one  of  them 
comes  into  a  room,  we  are  told  how  he  open- 
ed the  door,  which  foot  he  put  in  first,  and 
thea  the  door  must  be  shut  by  the  right  hand 
or  the  left,  with  a  precise  account  of  what  the 
other  hand  was  doing,  before  the  actor  is  al- 
lowed to  enter  upon  the  business  of  the  story. 
This  habit  of  minute  description — for  it  is  evi- 
dently a  habit  and  an  inveterate  one, — is  some- 
times turned  to  the  greatest  advantage,  as  in 
the  description  of  Lucia's  wedding  dress,  than 
which  nothing  can  be  more  charming,  but  it 
is  often  vexatkmsly  tedious :  it  must  be  re- 
membered, however,  that  the  author  has  re- 
served to  himself  the  privilege  of  making  his 
supposed  anonymous  writer  responsible  for 
every  tiling  that  is  obnoxious  to  modern  re- 
finement, as  he  very  adroitly  has  stated  in  his 
introduction.  We  warn  our  readers,  never- 
theless, that  it  is  very  unsafe  to  overlook  pas- 
sages of  this  kind,  merely  because  they  look 
rather  unpromising,  for  some  of  his  most  comic 
thoughts,  and  finest  touches  of  humor,  are 
very  often  enclosed  in  them,  and  are  only  to 
be  possessed  by  a  little  of  that  industry  which 
is  the  price  of  every  thing  worth  having,  as 
gold  and  even  diamonds  are  frequently  obtain- 
ed, by  talcing  the  trouble  to  wash  an  unpromis- 
ing looking  cascalho,  or  gravel. 

A  work  of  such  various  merit,  it  is  evident, 


. 


I  PROME8SI  SPOSI. 


must  be  exceedingly  difficult  to  translate.  If 
the  translator  had  supposed  it  as  laborious 
and  exacting  a  task  as  he  has  found  it,  he  cer- 
tainly would  never  have  undertaken  it.  Those 
who  are  familiar  with  the  Italian  idiom,  how- 
ever justly  they  may  remark,  that  in  transfus- 
ing from  one  language  into  another,  much  of 
the  refinement  of  the  most  poetic  of  modern 
languages,  has  been  permitted  to  evaporate, 
will  be  just  enough  to  say  that  the  translator 
has  been  faithful.  Perhaps  one  of  the  most 
difficult  of  all  literary  tasks  to  perform,  is  the 
translation  of  a  work  of  pre-eminent  merit  in 
the  Italian,  into  the  English  tongue,  and  that 
in  a  too  short  period  of  time.  A  translator  of 
such  a  work  is  made  constantly  to  feel,  that  it 
is  like  attempting  to  paint  the  fragrance  of 
violets  and  roses. 

Washington  City,  1834. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI; 

OR, 
THE    BETROTHED    LOVERS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THAT  branch  of  the  Lake  of  Como  which 
turns  to  the  south  between  two  uninterrupted 
chains  of  mountains,  and  which  presents  nu- 
merous bays  and  gulfs,  wherever  the  eleva- 
tions jut  out  or  retract  themselves,  begins  al- 
most at  once  to  contract  itself,  and  to  take  the 
direction  and  form  of  a  river,  between  a  pro- 
montory on  the  right,  and  a  spacious  shore  on 
the  opposite  side ;  and  the  bridge,  which  there 
unites  the  two  banks,  appears  to  announce 
more  distinctly  this  change  to  the  eye,  by  fix- 
ing the  point  where  the  lake  ceases  to  exist, 
and  where  the  Adda  springs  forth,  again  to 
extend  itself  into  lacustrine  dimensions ;  and 
where  the  banks,  retiring  once  more,  permit 
the  waters  to  expand  and  repose  themselves 
in  those  new  sinuosities  which  the  country 
presents.  The  shore,  formed  by  the  deposit 
of  three  powerful  torrents,  follows  the  river, 
supported  by  the  base  of  two  contiguous 
mountains,  one  called  San  Martino,  the  other 
Resegone — a  Lombard  word — given  to  it  on 
account  of  its  numerous  small  peaks  and  inter- 
vening notches,  which  present  the  appearance 
of  a  saw ;  so  that  no  one,  at  first  sight,  pro- 
vided it  is  seen  in  front — as  for  example  from 
the  ramparts  of  Milan,  which  look  to  the 
north — can  fail  to  recognize  it  by  that  simple 
natural  character,  amidst  the  other  mountains, 
with  forms  less  marked,  and  with  names  more 
obscure,  of  that  distant  and  extensive  ridge. 

For  a  considerable  distance  the  shore  rises 
with  a  gentle  and  continuous  slope,  then  breaks 
into  hifls  and  small  valleys,  steeps  and  glades, 
modified  by  the  action  of  the  waters,  and  the 
bony  spurs  of  the  two  mountains.  The  edge 


of  the  shore,  abraded  by  the  mouths  of  the  tor- 
rents, is  almost  entirely  covered  with  gravel 
and  pebbles,  but  the  rest  consists  of  fields  and 
vineyards,  sprinkled  with  towns,  villas,  ham- 
lets, and  even  woods,  in  some  parts,  which 
stretch  themselves  back  up  the  sides  of  ti.e 
mountains. 

Lecco,  the  principal  place  of  the  district, 
arid  which  gives  its  name  to  the  territory,  is  at 
a  short  distance  from  the  bridge  on  the  bank 
of  the  lake ;  indeed  when  the  lake  is  swollen 
it  lies  partly  in  it;  a  considerable  town  in  our 
own  times,  and  giving  fair  promise  to  become 
a  city.  At  the  period  when  the  circumstan- 
ces took  place  which  we  have  undertaken  to 
narrate,  this  place,  even  then  considerable, 
was  a  castle,  or  place  of  arms,  and  was  honor- 
ed by  being  the  nead-quarters  of  a  command- 
ant, besides  possessing  the  advantage  of  a  per- 
manent garrison  of  Spanish  soldiers,  who 
taught  modesty  to  the  damsels  and  matrons  of 
the  place,  not  forgetting  to  pay  their  court  from 
time  to  time,  to  the  shoulders  of  their  husbands 
and  fathers.  It  was  their  custom  too  at  the 
beginning  of  autumn,  to  spread  themselves 
about  in  the  vineyards,  with  a  view  to  thin  out 
the  grapes,  and  thus  lighten  the  toils  of  the 
vintage  to  the  rustic  laborers. 

From  one  of  these  small  towns  to  the  other, 
from  the  heights  to  the  shore,  from  one  hill  to 
another,  there  were,  as  in  our  own  day,  roads 
and  lanes,  some  of  them  rough,  some  steep, 
some  level,  and  not  unfrequently  they  were 
depressed  and  buried  between  inuraj  rocks, 
from  whence  looking  alol't,  nothing  was  to  be 
seen  but  a  portion  of  the  sky,  or  the  top  of 
some  mountain;  and  occasionally  the  way  led 
over  open  terraces,  from  whence  extensive 
views  were  to  be  obtained  of  prospects  more 
or  less  remote,  but  always  enriched  by  some 
novelty,  furnished  by  the  various  features  of 
the  vast  surrounding  scene  ;  now  bursting  out, 
now  becoming  obscured,  now  peeping  forth, 
and  disappearing  by  turns.  Here  one  point  of 
distance,  there  another ;  then  the  long  extent 
of  the  vast  and  varied  mirror  of  water ;  on  this 
side  a  lake  closed  at  its  extremity,  or  rather 
lost  in  the  windings  of  a  group  of  mountains, 
and  every  now  and  then  spreading  itself 
amongst  other  heights,  that  reveal  themselves 
one  by  one  ;  and  which,  with  the  landscapes 
adjacent  to  its  banks,  are  reflected  by  the  wa- 
ter, in  a  reversed  position.  There  it  is  an  arm 
of  the  river,  now  it  becomes  a  lake,  and  then 
again  a  river,  running  to  hide  its  bright  ser- 
pentine wanderings  amongst  the  mountains 
that  accompany  it,  and  which,  diminishing  in 
their  size,  are  themselves  almost  lost  in  the 
distant  horizon.  The  place  from  which  these 
diversified  features  may  be  contemplated,  pre- 
sents a  spectacle  on  every  side ;  the  mountain 
on  whose  skirts  he  is  treading,  unfolds  to  the 
traveler,  above,  and  in  every  direction,  its 
peaks  and  cliffs,  distinct,  erect,  and  varying  at 
every  step ;  opening  and  spreading  out  into 
ridges,  what  at  first  appeared  to  be  a  single 
chain,  resolving  into  one  summit  what  before 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


appeared  to  be  a  continuous  line ;  and  the 
pleasing  domestic  amenity  of  the  slopes,  grate- 
fully softening  the  more  savage  features  of  the 
scene,  invests  that  which  is  magnificent  in  the 
other  views,  with  still  greater  beauty. 

By  one  of  these  by-roads,  on  the  evening  of 
the  7th  of  November,  1628,  Don  Abbondio, 
curate  of  one  of  the  parishes  alluded  to,  was 
leisurely  returning  home  from  his  walk.  The 
name  of  the  parish,  nor  yet  his  own  family 
name,  is  not  found  in  the  manuscript,  in  this, 
nor  in  any  other  part  of  it.  He  went  on  tran- 
quilly repeating  the  evening  office,  and  occa- 
sionally between  the  psalms,  closed  the  brevi- 
ary, keeping  the  fore-finger  of  his  right  hand 
in  it  to  mark  the  place,  and  grasping  it  with 
the  other  behind  his  back,  pursued  his  path, 
his  eyes  bent  to  the  ground,  and  pushing  with 
his  feet,  towards  the  wall,  the  loose  stones 
which  embarrassed  the  path ;  then  raising  his 
head,  and  indolently  casting  his  eyes  around, 
he  fixed  them  on  the  ridge  of  a  mountain, 
where  the  already  diminished  light  of  the  sun, 
escaping  by  the  clefts  of  the  opposite  heights, 
left  their  prominent  spurs  in  relief,  like  so  ma- 
ny broad  and  unequal  masses  of  purple.  Hav- 
ing opened  the  breviary  again,  and  recited  ano- 
ther page,  he  reached  a  turn  of  the  road  where 
it  was  always  his  custom  to  raise  his  eyes  from 
the  book  and  to  look  before  him,  which  he  did 
upon  this  occasion.  From  this  turn  the  road 
for  about  sixty  paces  kept  a  straight  course, 
and  then  divided  into  two  paths  in  the  form  of 
a  Y ;  that  to  the  right  led  up  to  the  mountain, 
and  was  the  road  to  the  parsonage ;  the  left 
path  descended  into  the  valley  as  far  as  a  moun- 
tain stream ;  in  this  direction  the  wall  did  not 
reach  higher  than  the  hips  of  the  traveler. 
The  inner  walls  of  these  two  paths,  instead  of 
terminating  in  an  angle,  stopped  at  a  small 
chapel,  upon  which  were  painted  certain  long 
figures,  twisting  about  and  ending  in  a  point, 
which  according  to  the  intention  of  the  artist, 
and  in  the  eyes  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, were  to  pass  for  flames ;  alternating 
with  these  flames,  were  certain  other  indiscri- 
bable  figures,  intended  for  souls  in  purgatory ; 
the  souls  and  the  flames  were  all  of  a  red  brick 
color  upon  a  grayish  ground,  with  the  mortar 
here  and  there  cracked  and  fallen  from  the 
wall. 

The  curate  having  turned  the  corner,  and 
directed,  as  was  his  custom,  his  looks  to  the 
chapel,  saw  what  he  had  by  no  means  expect- 
ed to  see,  and  what  he  would  willingly  not 
have  seen.  At  the  confluence,  if  we  may  use 
the  term,  of  the  two  paths,  there  were  two 
men  opposite  to  each  other,  one  of  them  astride 
of  the  low  wall,  with  one  foot  dangling  on  the 
outside,  and  the  other  planted  on  the  ground 
in  the  road ;  his  companion  was  standing, 
leaning  against  the  wall,  with  his  arms  crossed 
upon  his  breast,  Their  garb,  their  deport- 
ment, and  what  the  curate  could  discern  of 
their  aspect  from  the  place  where  he  stood, 
left  no  doubt  as  to  who  they  were.  Each  of 
them  had  around  his  head  a  green  net,  which 


I  fell  upon  his  left  shoulder,  terminating  in  a 
j  great  tassel ;  and  from  beneath  this  net,  an 
I  enormous  lock  of  hair  fell  upon  the  forehead, 
i  two  longmustachois  curled  at  the  extremities, 
the  border  of  the  doublet  was  covered  by  a 
girdle  of  polished  leather,  to  which  a  pair  of 
pistols  was  appended  with  hooks;  a  small 
horn  filled  wiui  powder,  slung  on  the  breast, 
on  the  right  side  of  the  ample  and  swollen 
out  nether  garments,  a  pocket  from  which 
the  handle  01  a  knife  projected,  a  large  sword 
hanging  from  the  left  side,  with  an  enormous 
open  hilt,  formed  of  plates  of  brass  united  into 
a  cypher,  and  well  scoured  and  bright.  It  wan 
evident  at  the  first  glance  they  were  individu- 
als of  the  class  of  men  called  Bravos. 

This  class,  now  entirely  extinct,  was  then 
in  a  very  flourishing  state  in  Lombardy,  and 
dated  very  far  back.  To  form  a  more  accu- 
rate idea  of  it,  some  authentic  passages  are 
here  annexed,  explanatory  of  the  characteris- 
tics of  these  people,  of  the  great  efforts  made 
to  extinguish  them,  and  of  their  obstinate  and 
audacious  existence. 

As  far  back  as  the  8th  of  April,  1583,  the 
most  illustrious  and  excellent  Don  Charles  of 
Arragon,Prince  of  Castelvetrano,  Duke  of  Ter- 
ranuova,  Marquis  of  Avola,  Count  of  Burgeto, 
grand  admiral,  and  grand  constable  of  Sicily, 

governor  of  Milan  and  captain-general  of  His 
atholic  Majesty  in  Italy,  "  fully  informed  of 
the  intolerable  misery  which  has  been  brought 
upon,  and  which  stills  exists  in  this  city  of  Mi- 
lan, by  reason  of  Bravos  and  vagabonds,"  pub- 
lished a  proclamation  against  them, "  declaring 
and  describing  all  comprehended  in  the  procla- 
mation, to  be  esteemed  as  Bravos  ana  vaga- 
bonds who,  either  being  foreigners  or  natives, 
have  no  vocation,  or,  who  having  one,  do  not 
follow  it ;  but  without  recompense,  or  for  it, 
attach  themselves  to  any  cavalier  or  gentle- 
man, officer  or  merchant,  to  give  them  aid  or 
succour,  or,  indeed,  as  it  may  be  presumed, 
with  a  view  to  practice  machinations  against 
others."  All  these  are  ordered,  in  the  space 
of  six  days,  to  leave  the  country,  with  the  pe- 
nalty of  being  sent  to  the  galleys  in  case  of 
resistance,  granting  to  the  officers  of  justice, 
the  most  ample  ana  unrestrained  power  for  the 
execution  ot  the  order. 

But  in  the  following  year,  on  the  12th  of 
April,  the  same  nobleman  perceives,"  that  this 
city  is  generally  full  of  the  said  Bravos,  who 
have  returned  to  their  former  mode  of  life,  not 
in  the  least  reformed  in  their  manners,  nor  di- 
minished in  their  numbers,"  published  another 
edict,  still  more  rigorous  and  decided,  in  which, 
amongst  other  directions,  he  prescribes, 

"That  whatsoever  person,  whether  a  stran- 
ger or  native  of  the  city,  who  shall  be  proved 
By  two  witnesses,  to  be  commonly  reputed  to 
be  a  Bravo,  and  to  be  so  called — although  it 
may  not  be  in  proof  that  he  has  committed  a 
crime— shall  upon  the  sole  cause  of  its  being  im- 
puted to  him  to  be  a  Bravo,  and  without  any 
other  process,  save  that  of  the  information,  be 
by  the  said  judges,  or  by  any  one  of  them,  put 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


to  the  cord  and  rack ;  and  although  he  may 
not  confess  the  commission  of  any  crime,  shai 
immediately  afterwards  be  sent  to  the  galleys 
for  the  space  of  three  years,  solely  on  accoum 
of  his  being  reputed  to  be  a  Bravo,  as  before 
declared ;  his  excellency  being  resolved  to  be 
obeyed  by  every  one." 

Such  confident  and  resolute  language,  from 
so  powerful  a  personage,  and  accompanied 
with  such  orders,  it  might  be  believed,  would 
at  once  drive  all  the  Bravos  out  of  the  country ; 
but  the  testimony  of  a  personage  of  no  less 
authority,  nor  less  endowed  with  dignities, 
obliges  us  to  think  differently.  The  most  il- 
lustrious and  excellent  Don  John  Fernandez 
de  Velasco,  constable  of  Castile,  grand  cham- 
berlain to  tiie  King,  Duke  of  the  city  of  Frias, 
Count  of  Haro  and  Castlenuovo,  Lord  of  the 
house  of  Velasco.and  of  that  of  the  seven  infanti 
of  Lara,  governor  of  the  state  of  Milan,  &c, 
on  the  5th  of  June,  1593,  fully  informed  "  of 
the  injury  and  ruinous  mischief  proceeding 
from  bravos  and  vagabonds,  and  01  the  detri- 
ment that  class  of  men  are  to  the  public  wel- 
fare, and  of  the  delusions  they  practice  on 
public  justice,"  orders  them  again,  within  the 
space  of  six  days,  to  be  banished  the  coun- 
try, reiterating  nearly  the  same  denunciations 
and  orders  of  his  predecessor.  On  the  23d 
of  May,  1598,  "informed,  with  no  small  dis- 
pleasure, that  the  number  of  persons  of  this 
class  is  daily  increasing  in  this  city  and  terri- 
tory, and  that  night  and  day,  nothing  is  heard 
from  them  but  of  wounds  purposely  inflicted, 
of  homicides,  of  robberies  and  every  sort  of 
crime  committed  by  them ;  with  which  they 
become  more  familiar  owing  to  the  confidence 
with  which  these  Bravos  rely  upon  the  pro- 
tection they  receive  from  their  chiefs  and  em- 
ployers ;"  the  same  remedy  is  applied,  in- 
creasing the  dose,  as  in  cases  of  all  obstinate 
maladies.  "Every  one, therefore,"  he  con- 
cludes, "  must  carefully  look  that  he  does  not 
disobey  the  present  proclamation  in  any  par- 
ticular whatever,  as  in  such  case  he  need  not 
count  upon  the  clemency  of  his  excellency, 
but  will  experience  his  rigor  and  indignation ; 
being  resolved  and  determined  that  mis  shall 
be  his  last  and  peremptory  monition." 

This  was,  however,  not  found  to  be  the  case 
by  the  most  illustrious  and  excellent  Don  Pe- 
ter Henriqnez  de  Acevedo,  Count  of  Fuentes, 
captain  and  governor  of  the  state  of  Milan, 
and  he  had  very  good  reasons  for  it.  On  the 
5th  of  December,  1600,  he  issued  a  new  warn- 
ing, full  of  energetic  provisions:  "Fully  in- 
formed of  the  misery  existing  in  this  state  and 
territory  on  account  of  the  great  number  of 
Bravos  existing  in  them,  and  resolved  to  extir- 
pate totally  such  a  pernicious  race,  with  a  firm 
determination  that  his  orders  shall  be  com- 
pletely executed,  with  every  rigor,  and  so  as  to 
leave  no  hope." 

We  must  suppose,  however,  that  he  did  not 
enter  into  the  practical  execution  of  these 
plans,  with  the  zeal  that  he  carried  into  the 
contrivance  of  his  plots,  and  the  raising  up  of 


opponents  to  his  great  enemy,  Henry  the  4th ; 
since  history  attests  how  successful  he  was  in 
arming  the  Duke  of  Savoy  against  that  sove- 
reign, and  causing  him  to  lose  more  than  one 
city ;  also,  how  he  succeeded  in  entangling  the 
Duke  of  Biron  in  his  plots,  and  causing  him 
to  lose  his  head.  But  as  to  this  desperate 
race  of  Bravos,  certain  it  is,  that  it  continued 
to  flourish  up  to  the  22d  of  September,  1612. 
At  that  period  the  most  illustrious  and  excel- 
lent Don  John  di  Mendoza,  Marquis  of  Hy- 
nojosa,  gentleman,  Etc.  governor,  &.c.  seri- 
ously thought  of  extirpating  it.  To  this  effect 
he  transmitted  to  Pandolfo  and  Marco  Tullio 
Malatesti,  printers  to  the  king,  the  usual  pro- 
clamation, corrected  and  enlarged,  that  it 
might  be  promulgated  to  the  extermination 
of  the  Bravos.  But  these  survived  to  receive, 
the  24th  December,  1816,  the  same  and  still 
heavier  blows  from  the  most  illustrious  and 
excellent  Don  Gomez  Suavez  di  Figueroa, 
Duke  of  Feria,  governor,  &c.  Nevertheless, 
not  being  entirely  overcome  by  these  shocks, 
the  most  illustrious  and  excellent  Don  Gonza- 
lo  Fernandez  di  Cordova,  under  whose  gov- 
ernment the  affair  of  Don  Abbondio  occurred, 
found  himself  constrained  to  republish  the  an- 
cient decree  against  the  Bravos,  on  the  5th 
October,  1627,  one  year,  one  month,  and  two 
days  previous  to  that  memorable  event. 

Nor  was  this  the  last  proclamation,  although 
we  do  not  deem  it  relevant  to  mention  any 
that  were  published  since  the  period  of  our 
story.  One,  of  the  13th  of  February,  1632, 
however,  we  will  notice,  in  which  the  most 
illustrious  and  excellent  Duke  of  Feria,  &c. 
the  second  time  governor,  informs  us  that  the 
most  atrocious  disorders  existing  in  the  city, 
proceed  from  the  class  of  men  called  Bravos. 

This  is  sufficient  to  render  it  certain,  that  at 
the  period  of  our  story  Bravos  existed. 

That  the  two  individuals  of  this  class  were 
posted  there  in  expectation  of  some  one,  was 
i  thing  too  evident;  but  what  most  ruffled 
Don  Abbondio,  was  a  feeling  assured  by  cer- 
:ain  movements  they  made,  that  he  was  the 
person  they  were  waiting  for.  For  when  he 
came  in  sight,  they  looked  at  each  other, 
raising  their  heads  in  such  a  manner,  that  it. 
was  evident  both  had  said,  "  this  is  the  man." 
The  man  who  was  astride  of  the  wall,  had 
risen  up  and  placed  his  foot  on  the  ground, 
:he  other  had  removed  from  the  wall,  and 
>oth  were  approaching  him.  Holding  his 
open  breviary  before  him,  as  if  he  were  read- 
ng,  he  lifted  his  eye  somewhat  to  discern 
:heir  motions,  and  perceiving  that  they  be- 
gan to  advance  just  as  he  turned,  a  thousand 
houghts  rushed  upon  him.  He  hastily  con- 
sidered whether  there  was  any  path  to  the 
right  or  the  left,  betwixt  the  bravos  and  him- 
self, but  as  quickly  remembered  there  was  none . 
Ie  examined  himself  rapidly,  whether  he  had 
offended  any  person  of  importance,  or  any 
vindictive  individual;  but  even  in  that  dis- 
urbed  state  of  mind,  the  soothing  testimony 
of  his  conscience  somewhat  trauquilized  him. 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


The  Braves  drawing  near,  looked  him  steadi- 
ly in  the  lace.  Putting  the  fore  and  middle 
finger  of  his  left  hand  into  his  collar,  as  if  to 
arrange  it,  and  carrying  his  fingers  round  his 
neck,  he  turned  his  face  a  little  behind,  and 
from  the  corner  of  his  eye  endeavored  to  dis- 
cover, if  from  any  direction  assistance  might 
be  expected ;  but  no  one  was  coming.  He 
threw  a  momentary  glance  over  the  low  wall 
into  the  fields,  but  no  one  was  there  :  lastly, 
he  gave  a  quiet  look  upon  the  road  before  him 
but  no  one  was  to  be  seen  there  but  the  Bra- 
vos.  What  was  to  be  done  ?  To  turn  back 
— it  was  too  late.  To  fly,  was  only  inviting 
them  to  follow  him,  or  do  worse.  Unable  tc 
avoid  the  danger,  he  hastened  to  meet  it,  for 
those  dubious  moments  were  too  painful  to 
him,  not  to  desire  to  shorten  them.  Quicken 
ing  his  pace,  he  recited  a  verse  with  a  louder 
voice,  composed  his  features  into  as  much 
tranquillity  and  hilarity  as  he  could,  made 
every  effort  to  call  up  a  smile,  and  when  he 
came  close  in  front  of  these  honest  gentlemen, 
"  here  I  am,"  said  he,  mentally,  and  came  to 
a  stand. 

"  Signer  curate,"  said  one  of  the  two,  look- 
ing him  fixedly  in  the  face. 

"  What  is  your  pleasure,"  immediately,  re- 
plied Don  Abbondio,  raising  his  eyes"  from 
the  book,  and  holding  it  wide  open  with  both 
his  hands. 

"  It  is  your  intention,"  pursued  the  other, 
with  the  angry  and  menacing  look  of  one  who 
has  detected  his  inferior  about  to  perpetrate 
some  villany.  "  It  is  your  intention  to  marry 
Renzo  Tramaglino  and  Lucia  Mb*hdella,  to- 
morrow ! " 

"  That  is," — answered  Don  Abbondio  with 
a  tremulous  voice,  "  that  is — you  two  gen- 
tlemen— are  men  of  the  world,  and  know 
very  well  how  these  things  are  done.  The 
poor  curate  has  nothing  to  do  with  it — they 
make  up  their  little  matters  amongst  them- 
selves, and  then — then,  they  come  to  us,  just 
as  they  would  go  to  a  bank  to  redeem  their 
pledges.  We  are  the  servants  of  the  com- 
mune." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  Bravo,  with  a  sub- 
dued voice,  but  in  a  solemn  tone  of  command, 
"  this  marriage  must  not  take  place  to-mor- 
row, or  ever. 

"  But,  gentlemen,"  replied  Don  Abbondio, 
with  the  affable  and  mila  tone  of  a  man  who 
seeks  to  persuade  an  impatient  person,  "  but, 
gentlemen,  be  so  indulgent  just  as  to  put  your- 
selves in  my  place.  If  it  depended  upon  me — 
you  see  clearly,  I  have  no  interest  in — " 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  Bravo,  "  if  this 
affair  was  to  be  decided  by  such  idle  talking, 
you  would  give  us  the  bag  to  hold.  We  know 
nothing,  and  we  don't  want  to  know  any  thing 
more.  A  man  once  warned — you  understand 
me." 

"But,  gentlemen,  you  are  too  just,  too 
reasonable — " 

"  But,"  interrupted  the  other  man,  who  had 
not  yet  spoken,  "  but  the  marriage  shall 


not  take  place,   or ;   and,  by  — > — ,  he 

who  celebrates  shall  never  repent  it,  for  he 

shall  have  no  time  to  do  so,  and ,"  here 

another  oath. 

"  Be  quiet,  now,"  replied  the  first  speaker., 
"  the  signer  curate  knows  how  the  world  wags, 
and  we  are  honest  fellows,  that  don't  intend  to 
hurt  him,  if  he  acts  discreetly.  Signer,  the 
most  illustrious  Don  Rodrigo  salutes  you  very 
dearly."  This  name  produced  in  Don  Abbon- 
dio the  same  effect  that  the  lightning  of  a 
fierce  nocturnal  tempest  does ;  confusedly  re- 
vealing, for  an  instant,  objects  before  in  dark- 
ness, and  increasing  the  terror.  As  if  by  in- 
stinct, he  made  a  profound  bow,  and  replied, 
"  If,  gentlemen,  you  could  only  suggest  any 
thing — " 

"Oh !  suggest  to  your  worship,  indeed,  who 
understands  latin !''  interrupted  the  Bravo 
again,  with  a  laugh  between  vulgarity  and  fe- 
rocity. "  That's  your  business  !  and  above 
all,  be  careful  not  to  let  a  word  escape  about 
the  advice  we  have  given  you,  for  your  own 
good,  otherwise — hem — it  would  be  the  same 
thing  as  if  you  were  to  marry  them.  Well, 
what  shall  we  tell  the  most  illustrious  Don 
Rodrigo  on  your  part  ?" 
"  My  respect — " 

"  Explain  yourself,  signor  curate.' 
— "  Disposed — always  disposed — to  obe- 
dience ;"  and,  uttering  these  words,  he  was 
not  aware  himself  whether  he  had  given  a 
promise,  or  had  merely  uttered  an  ordinary 
compliment.  The  Bravos  received  them,  or. 
pretended  to  receive  them,  in  the  most  serious 
sense. 

"  It  is  all  right,  and  good  night,  signor  cu- 
rate," said  one  of  them,  in  the  act  of  moving 
away  with  his  companion.  Don  Abbondio, 
who,  a  few  moments  before,  would  have  given 
an  eye  out  of  his  body  to  avoid  them,  was 
desirous  now  to  prolong  the  conversation  and 
the  treaty.  "  Gentlemen,"  he  began,  shutting 
the  book  with  both  his  hands,  but  they,  with- 
out listening  further  to  him,  went  off  by  the 
road  he  had  come,  and  pursued  their  way, 
singing  some  ribaldry,  altogether  unworthy  of 
aeing  noted  down.  Poor  Don  Abbondio  re- 
named a  moment  with  his  mouth  open,  as  if 
ic  were  enchanted,  then  took  the  path  that 
ed  to  his  house,  advancing  one  leg  before  the 
other,  with  as  much  difficulty  as  if  he  had  the 
cramp,  and  in  a  state  of  mind  which  the  reader 
will  be  better  able  to  comprehend,  when  he 
las  become  better  informed  of  the  real  cha- 
racter of  this  personage,  and  of  the  temper  of 
he  times  in  wnich  it  had  been  his  lot  to  live. 
Don  Abbondio — and  the  reader  must  have 
>erceived  it — had  not  come  into  this  world 
with  the  heart  of  a  lion.  But  from  his  earliest 
years  he  could  not  but  perceive  that  one  of  the 
most  embarrassing  situations  for  such  times, 
was  that  of  an  animal  without  claws  and  with- 
out fangs,  and  without  the  slightest  inclination 
in  the  world  to  be  devoured.  The  power  of 
the  law  gave  no  protection,  in  any  matter,  to 
the  tranquil  and  inoffensive  man,  who  was 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


destitute  of  every  means  to  inspire  others  with 
fear.  Not  that  laws  and  penalties  were  want- 
ing against  private  violence  ;  on  the  contrary, 
the  laws  came  down  in  showers.  Crimes  were 
enumerated  and  particularized  with  minute 
prolixity ;  penalties  were  extravagantly  exor- 
bitant, and  if  apparently  insufficient,  were  in- 
creased for  every  case  at  the  will  of  the  legis- 
lator himself,  and  a  hundred  executors  of  jus- 
tice. Legal  proceedings  had  no  object  but  to 
remove  from  the  judge  every  impediment  in 
the  way  of  condemnation,  and  the  extracts  we 
have  given  from  the  proclamations  respecting 
the  Bravos,  form  a  small  but  a  faithful  picture 
of  this  state  of  things.  Notwithstanding  all 
this,  and  indeed  in  a  great  measure  for  this 
reason,  those  decrees,  thus  republished,  and 
reinvigorated  from  one  government  to  another, 
were  nothing  but  pompous  evidences  of  the 
impotence  of  their  authors ;  or,  if  they  pro- 
duced any  immediate  effect,  it  was  chiefly  that 
of  adding  many  vexations  to  those  which  dis- 
orderly persons  inflicted  upon  the  peaceful  and 
the  feeble,  and  of  increasing  their  own  violence 
and  craftiness. 

Impunity  was  organized,  and  had  roots 
which  the  decrees  could  not  reach,  or  could 
not  remove.  Such  were  the  asylums,  such  the 
privileges  of  some  classes,  partly  acknowledg- 
ed by  legal  authority,  partly  tolerated  by  a 
rancorous  silence,  or  denied  by  vain  protesta- 
tions, but  maintained  in  fact,  and  guarded  by 
those  classes,  and  almost  by  every  individual, 
with  the  activity  of  self  interest,  and  the  jeal- 
ousy of  punctilio.  This  impunity,  now  mena- 
ced and  insulted,  but  not  destroyed  by  the 
proclamations,  at  every  threat,  and  every  at- 
tack, would  naturally  adopt  new  schemes,  and 
make  new  efforts  to  preserve  itself.  And  so  it 
turned  out ;  for  when  the  decrees  directed  to 
the  repression  of  violence  appeared,  the  distur- 
bers of  the  peace  sought  in  their  strong  holds, 
new  and  more  opportune  means  to  keep  up 
that  disorder,  which  these  mandates  prohibit- 
ed. The  innocent  man  who  had  not  the  pow- 
er of  defending  himself,  and  who  had  no  pro- 
tector, was  liable  at  every  step  to  be  molested 
and  deprived  of  his  liberty ;  for  with  a  view  to 
bring  every  man  within  the  power  of  the  law, 
for  the  prevention  or  punishment  of  crimes, 
every  movement  of  private  individuals  was 
made  subject  to  the  arbitrary  will  of  a  thou- 
sand magistrates  and  officers  of  justice.'  But 
he  who  before  the  commission  of  a  crime,  had 
taken  his  measures  to  seek  seasonable  refuge 
in  a  convent,  or  in  a  palace  where  the  police 
would  never  dare  to  set  a  foot ;  or  he  who  with- 
out taking  any  measures,  wore  a  livery  which 
engaged  the  vanity  and  interest  of  a  powerful 
family  to  defend  him,  was  covered  as  witli  a 
shield ;  that  man  was  free  to  do  what  he  pleas- 
ed, and  could  laugh  at  the  impotent  blustering 
of  the  proclamations. 

Those  even  who  were  charged  with  the  ex- 
ecution of  their  provisions,  were,  some  of 
them,  connected  by  blood  with  the  privileged 
party,  whilst  others  depended  on  them  for  pa- 


tronage :  one  and  the  other,  by  education,  by 
interest,  by  habit,  by  imitation,  had  embraced 
these  maxims,  and  were  very  careful  not  to 
offer  any  violence  to  them,  out  of  mere  affec- 
tion for  a  piece  of  paper  posted  on  the  corners 
of  the  streets.  Those,  in  fact,  entrusted  with 
the  immediate  execution  of  these  denuncia- 
tions, had  they  been  as  enterprising  as  heroes, 
obedient  as  monks,  and  devoted  as  martyrs, 
would  never  have  been  able  to  accomplish  the 
work,  inferior  as  they  were  in  numbers  to 
those  they  had  to  commence  hostilities  with  ; 
and  with  the  frequent  probability  of  being 
abandoned,  and  even  sacrificed,  by  the  power 
which  in  theory,  and  in  the  abstract — so  to 
speak — instructed  them  to  act. 

But,  besides,  these  men  consisted  generally 
of  the  most  abject  and  violent  individuals  of 
the  times  ;  their  occupation  too  was  consider- 
ed a  base  one,  by  those  it  was  intended  to  awe, 
and  the  name  they  were  designated  by,  a  re- 
proach. It  was  then  very  natural  that  these 
men,  instead  of  risking,  and  even  throwing 
away  their  lives  in  impossible  undertakings, 
should  sell  their  inaction,  and  even  their  con- 
nivance to  the  powerful ;  and  that  they  should 
reserve  the  exercise  of  their  execrated  autho- 
rity, and  the  force  they  possessed,  for  occa- 
sions devoid  of  danger,  and  where  they  could 
oppress  and  vex  pacific  men  unable  to  defend 
themselves. 

The  man  who  seeks  to  offend,  or  who  fears 
at  every  instant  to  be  offended,  naturally  seeks 
allies  and  companions.  Hence  the  tendency 
amongst  individuals  to  congregate  into  class- 
es, to  form  new  ones,  and  for  every  one  to  en- 
deavor to  Impart  the  greatest  power  to  that  of 
which  he  is  a  member,  was  in  those  times  car- 
ried to  the  greatest  length.  The  clergy  was 
vigilant  to  defend  and  to  extend  their  immuni- 
ties ;  the  nobility,  their  privileges ;  the  milita- 
ry, their  exemptions.  The  merchants,  the  ar- 
tisans were  enrolled  in  companies  and  frater- 
nities ;  the  lawyers  formed  a  league,  and  even 
the  physicians  became  a  corporation.  Each 
of  these  little  oligarchies  possessed  its  own 
special  and  peculiar  power ;  in  each  the  indi- 
vidual found  his  advantage  in  employing  for 
his  own  account,  and  in  proportion  to  his  au- 
thority and  dexterity,  the  united  strength  of 
the  many.  The  more  honest  availed  them- 
selves of  this  advantage  for  their  own  defence ; 
the  cunning  and  the  wicked  profited  by  it  to 
forward  those  bad  ends,  for  which  their  own 
personal  means  were  insufficient,  and  to  se- 
cure impunity.  The  power,  however,  of  these 
various  associations  was  very  unequal,  and  in 
the  country  especially,  the  rich  and  powerful 
nobleman,  with  a  troop  of  Bravos,  and  sur- 
rounded by  peasants  habituated  by  familiar 
tradition,  and  interested  or  compelled  to  con- 
sider himself  almost  as  a  soldier  or  subject  of 
his  patron,  exercised  a  power,  against  which 
no  other  association  could  there  have  made 
any  effectual  resistance. 

Our  Abbondio  was  not  noble,  was  not  rich, 
he  was  not  courageous  ;  from  his  infancy  he 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


had  been  accustomed,  in  such  a  state  of  so- 
ciety, to  play  the  part  of  an  earthen  vase,  tra- 
veling in  company  with  a  great  many  vessels 
made  of  cast  iron,  and  had,  with  a  hearty  good 
•will,  yielded  to  the  desire  of  his  parents,  who 
wished  him  to  be  a  priest.  To  tell  the  truth, 
he  had  not  reflected  much  upon  the  obligations 
and  the  noble  ends  of  that  ministry  to  which 
he  was  dedicating  himself:  to  be  assured  of 
an  existence  that  had  both  its  comforts  and 
superfluities,  and  to  be  the  member  of  a  pow- 
erful and  revered  class,  appeared  to  him  two 
reasons  more  than  sufficient  for  his  choice. 
But  no  class  whatever  provides  for  the  indi- 
vidual, or  secures  him  beyond  a  certain  point ; 
there  is  not  one  which  excuses  him  from  the 
necessity  of  adopting  an  individual  system  of 
action.  Don  Abbondio,  continually  absorbed 
in  thoughts  about  his  own  safety,  was  not  so- 
licitous about  those  advantages,  for  the  pos- 
session of  which  it  would  have  been  necessary 
to  take  a  more  active  part,  or  to  run  some 
risks.  His  system  principally  consisted  in 
getting  out  of  the  way  of  opposition,  and  of 
yielding  to  that  which  he  could  not  avoid.  It 
was  an  unarmed  neutrality  in  all  the  contests 
which  broke  out  around  him,  arising  from  the 
disputes,  then  very  frequent,  between  the 
clergy  and  the  lay  authorities  ;  those  not  less 
frequent  between  the  officers  of  justice  and 
the  nobles,  the  magistracy  and  the  nobility, 
soldiers  and  bravos,  even  to  the  vulgar  quar- 
rels among  the  country  people,  beginning  with 
harsh  words,  and  terminating  with  fists  and 
knives.  If  he  was  absolutely  compelled  to 
take  sides  between  two  disputants,  he  always 
took  the  side  of  the  strongest,  keeping  how- 
ever, somewhat  aloof,  and  taking  care  to  make 
the  other  understand  that  he  was  not  volunta- 
rily his  enemy :  he  seemed  to  say  to  him  from 
his  position,  "  why  have  not  you  contrived  to 
be  stronger  than  him  ?  I  would  have  been  on 
your  side  in  that  case."  Thus,  keeping  aloof 
from  the  powerful,  shutting  his  eyes  upon 
their  capricious  treacheries,  agreeing  in  a  sub- 
missive manner  with  those  who  had  more  se- 
rious and  deliberate  intentions,  forcing  by  his 
bows  and  cheerful  respect,  a  smile,  even  from 
the  most  sullen  and  contemptuous  when  he 
fell  in  with  them,  the  poor  man  had  succeeded 
in  paddling  his  bark  along  for  sixty  years, 
without  encountering  any  great  storms. 

Not  but  that  he  too  had  a  little  gall  in  his 
composition ;  this  practiced  suffering,  this  con- 
stantly admitting  every  body  to  be  in  the  right, 
«o  many  bitter  mouthfuls  swallowed  in  silence, 
had  irritated  him  to  such  a  degree,  that  if  he 
had  not  seized  now  and  then  upon  occasions  to 
give  vent  to  his  feelings,  his  nealth  certainly 
would  have  suffered.  But  as  there  were  a 
few  persons  in  the  world  around  him,  whom 
he  knew  could  do  him  no  harm,  so  with  them 
he  could  now  and  then  get  rid  of  the  bad 
humor  long  pent  up  in  him,  and  vent  the  incli- 
nation that  even  be  had  to  indulge  in  imagi- 
nary evils,  and  to  complain  about  trifles.  Be- 
sides this,  he  was  a  severe  censor  of  those 


:  who  did  not  act  precisely  as  he  did,  provided 
I  he  could  be  so  without  even  the  most  remote 
|  danger.    The  man  that  had  got  a  beating,  was 
'  at  least,  not  a — very — very  prudent  man ;  and 
I  he  that  got  killed,  had  always  been  a  very 
i  troublesome  person.    If  any  one,  venturing  to 
!  maintain  his  own  opinions  against  some  one 
i  in  power,  got  his  head  broke,  Don  Abbondio 
:  was  sure  to  find  him  in  the  wrong  a  little,  and 
this  was  not  very  difficult  to  do,  because  right 
and  wrong  can  never  be  cut  so  neatly  in  two, 
but  that  one  of  them  has  more  than  belongs  to 
it.    Above  all,  he  declaimed  against  thoae  of 
his  brethren,  who,  at  their  own  risk,  espoused 
the  part  of  the  weak  and  oppressed,  against 
the  overbearing  and  strong.    This,  he  said, 
was  like  purchasing  trouble  with  ready  money, 
or  like  stopping  to  straighten  a  dog's  legs ; 
and  he  averred,with  some  austerity,  that  it  was 
meddling  with  profane  things,  at  the  expense 
of  the  dignity  of  the  sacred  profession.  Against 
these  he  inveighed,  either  in  a  very  small  cir- 
cle, and  where  he  knew  his  auditors,  with  the 
greater  vehemence,  when  sure  that  they  were 
not  persons  to  resent  what  came  personally 
home  to  them.    He  had  also  a  favorite  sen- 
tence with  which  he  closed  all  his  harangues 
on  this  head — that  he  that  looks  to  himself, 
and  does  not  meddle  with  other  people's  af- 
fairs, never  gets  into  trouble. 

My  five  and  twenty  readers  may  now  sup- 
pose what  sort  of  impression  the  encounter, 
which  has  been  just  related,  must  have  made 
upon  the  mind  of  this  poor  man.  The  awe 
with  which  those  two  physiognomies,  and 
those  terrible  words  inspired  him  ;  the  menace 
of  a  nobleman  never  Known  to  threaten  in 
vain,  a  system  of  quiet  existence  which  had 
cost  him  so  many  years  of  study  and  patience, 
disconcerted  at  once,  a  narrow  path  pointed 
out  to  him,  full  of  asperities  and  hard  to  pur- 
sue— a  path  to  which  he  could  perceive  no 
end — all  these  thoughts  were  tumultuously 
jostling  each  other  in  the  inclined  head  of 
Don  Abbondio.  "If  Renzo  could  be  dis- 
missed in  peace,  with  a  polite  no,  it  would  be 
well  enough,  but  he  will  be  asking  for  rea- 
sons. And  what  reasons  have  I  got  to  give 
him,  for  the  love  of  heaven  ?  And — and — 
and  he  has  a  sort  of  head — he  is  a  kind  of 
lamb  if  he  is  left  to  himself,  but  if  any  one 

contradicts  him ay — ay — and  thinking  of 

nothing  on  earth  but  that  Lucia,  over  head  and 
ears  in  love  with  her,  like — • —  A  pack  of 
young  fellows,  that  because  they  have  got  no- 
thing to  do,  must  fall  in  love,  and  then  they 
must  be  married,  and  wont  think  of  any  thing 
else,  least  of  all,  of  the  trouble  into  which  in- 
offensive honest  men  are  drawn  by  them. — 
Unfortunate  that  I  am  !  What  had  those  two 
villanoua  faces  to  do,  to  come  and  stand  right 
in  my  road,  and  bring  this  upon  my  head  ? 
What  have  I  to  do  with  it ;  is  it  I  who  wants 
to  be  married  ?  Why  did  not  they  go  first 

and  speak  to there  again,  see  how  tilings 

come  into  my  head  always  when  it  is  too  late. 
If  I  had  but  thought  just  now  of  hinting  to 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


them  to  carry  their  embassy "   But  here  it 

flashed  upon  him  that  his  regretting  that  he 
had  not  been  a  counsellor  and  co-operator  in 
this  infamous  affair,  was  iniquity  enough  of 
itself,  and  so  he  turned  all  his  resentments 
against  the  man  who  had  thus  interfered  to  de- 

Erive  him  of  his  peace.  He  had  no  know- 
;dge  of  Don  Roderigo  but  by  sight  and  repu- 
tation, and  had  never  had  any  thing  further  to 
do  with  him,  than  the  bringing  his  chin  to  his 
breast,  and  his  hat  to  the  ground,  the  few 
times  he  had  met  him  abroad.  It  had  hap- 
pened to  him  to  defend,  upon  more  than  one 
occasion,  the  reputation  of  that  nobleman, 
against  those,  who  in  a  low  voice,  sighing  and 
raising  their  eyes  to  heaven,  invoked  maledic- 
tions upon  his  actions :  a  hundred  times  he 
had  declared  that  he  was  a  very  respectable 
cavalier.  But  at  this  juncture,  he  gave  him 
in  his  heart  all  those  titles,  that  he  had  ne- 
ver heard  others  apply  to  him,  without  has- 
tily interrupting  them  by — "  Oh !  this  is  too 
bad." 

Arrived,  amidst  the  tumult  of  such  thoughts, 
at  the  door  of  his  house,  which  stood  at  the 
highest  part  of  the  grounds,  and  hastily  put- 
ting the  Key,  which  ne  held  in  his  hand,  into 
the  lock,  he  opened  it,  entered,  and  carefully 
closing  it,  gave  vent  to  his  desire  to  be  in  safe 
company,  by  calling  out,  "  Perpetua,  Perpe- 
tua!"  and  moving  to  the  small  room  where 
he  was  sure  to  find  her  spreading  the  table  for 
supper.  Perpetua  was,  as  every  one  must 
see,  the  servant  of  Don  Abbondio,  at  once 
faithful  and  affectionate ;  knowing  how  to 
obey  and  how  to  command,  upon  proper  oc- 
casions, how  to  put  up  too  with  the  grum- 
blings and  whims  of  her  master,  and  make 
him  put  up  with  her  own,  now  becoming 
more  frequent  from  day  to  day ;  for  she  had 
passed  the  synodal  age  of  forty,  and  was  still 
single,  having,  as  she  said,  refused  every  of- 
fer that  had  been  made  to  her,  or  for  a  reason 
alleged  by  her  female  friends,  that  no  dog  had 
yet  taken  a  fancy  to  her. 

"Coming,"  replied  Perpetua,  placing  on 
the  small  table  in  the  accustomed  place,  the 
little  flask  of  Don  Abbondio's  favorite  wine, 
and  moving  slowly ;  but  she  had  not  yet  reach- 
ed the  threshold  of  the  room,  when  he  came 
in  with  such  a  disordered  gait,  such  dark 
looks,  and  with  his  countenance  so  distorted, 
that  it  did  not  want  even  the  experienced  eyes 
of  Perpetua  to  discover  at  the  first  glance,  that 
something  very  extraordinary  had  happened 
to  him. 

"  0  mercy !  what  is  the  matter,  master?" 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  replied  Don  Abbon- 
dio, and  sinking  out  of  breath  into  his  great 
chair. 

"How,  nothing?  Will  you  tell  me  so? 
looking  so  frightful  as  you  do.  Something 
very  terrible  has  happened." 

"  O  for  the  love  of  heaven !  when  I  say 
nothing,  either  it  is  nothing,  or  it  is  something 
I  can  say  nothing  about." 

"What  can't  you  even  tell  me?    Who  is 


there  but  me  to  take  care  of  your  health  ? 
Who  is  there  to  ad  vise  with  ?" 

"Alas,  alas,  be  silent.  Make  no  further 
preparations,  but  give  me  a  glass  of  my  wine." 

"  And  yet  you  will  tell  me  that  nothing  is 
the  matter  with  you,"  said  Perpetua,  filling 
the  glass,  and  holding  it  in  her  hand,  as  if  she 
was  only  going  to  give  it  as  a  return  for  the 
confidence  she  was  waiting  for. 

"Here  give  it — give  it  me,"  said  Don  Ab- 
bondio, taking  the  glass  with  an  unsteady  hand, 
and  hastily  emptying  it  as  if  it  had  been  a  dose 
of  medicine. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  force  me  to  go  asking 
here  and  there,  what  it  is  that  has  happened 
to  my  master  ?"  said  Perpetua,  standing  erect 
before  him,  with  her  arms  akimbo,  and  her  el- 
bows sticking  out,  steadfastly  looking  at  him, 
as  if  she  would  draw  the  secret  out  of  his 
eyes. 

"  For  the  love  of  heaven !  Don't  get  up  any 
petulant,  clamorous — this  is  a  matter — a  mat- 
ter— in  which — life " 

"  Life  ?" 

"Life!" 

"  My  master  knows  well,  that  every  time  he 
has  seriously  told  me  any  thing  in  confidence, 
I  have  never " 

"  Ay,  indeed  !  For  instance  when " 

Perpetua  perceived  that  she  had  struck  the 
wrong  note,  and  suddenly  changing  her  tone, 
"Master,"  said  she,  with  a  touching  voice, 
and  well  calculated  to  soften  him,  "  I  have 
ever  been  affectionate  to  you,  and  if  now  I 
want  to  be  told  what  has  happened,  it  is  from 
my  great  solicitude  for  you,  that  I  may  be  able 
to  assist,  to  give  you  good  counsel,  to  raise 
your  spirits " 

The  fact  is  Don  Abbondio  had  perhaps  as 
great  an  inclination  to  unbosom  himself  of  his 
painful  secret,  as  Perpetua  had  to  learn  it ;  so 
that,  after  repelling  more  and  more  feebly  the 
fresh  and  more  persevering  attacks  which  she 
made,  after  having  made  her  more  than  once 
swear  that  she  would  not  breathe  a  syllable  of 
the  matter,  at  last,  with  many  hesitations,  and 
many  an  alas !  he  acquainted  her  with  his 
wretched  case.  When  he  came  to  the  terrible 
name  of  the  man  whose  commands  were  upon 
him,  he  made  Perpetua  repeat  a  new  and  more 
solemn  obligation  ;  at  length,  having  pronoun- 
ced the  name,  he  let  himself  fall  into  the  back 
of  the  chair,  with  a  deep  sigh,  raising  his 
hands  in  an  attitude  at  once  of  command  and 
supplication,  saying,  "For  the  love  of  hea- 
ven !" 

"  Mercy !"  ejaculated  Perpetua.  "  0  what  a 
villain  !  0  what  a  tyrant !  Oh,  what  a  man 
without  the  fear  of  God  !" 

"Will  you  be  silent,  or  will  you  entirely 
ruin  me  ?" 

"  0 !  we  are  here  alone,  and  no  one  can 
hear  us.  But  my  poor  master,  what  will  you 
do?" 

"  See,  there," — said  Don  Abbondio,  with  a 
spiteful  tone,"  see,  what  excellent  counsel  this 
woman  is  giving  me !  She  asks  me  what  1 


10 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


shall  do— what  I  shall  do,  just  as  if  the  danger 
was  hanging  over  her  head,  and  she  looked  to 
me  for  aid." 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  got  some  little  poor  opin- 
ion of  my  own  to  give,  notwithstanding,  but 
then " 

"  But  then,  let  us  hear." 

"My  opinion  would  be,  since  every  one 
says  our  archbishop  is  a  saint,  and  a  man  of 
nerve,  who  is  not  afraid  of  villanous  faces,  I 
would  advise  you  to  write  him  a  handsome 
letter  to  inform  him  how " 

"  Do  be  silent ;  be  silent !  Are  these  coun- 
sels to  give  to  a  poor  man  ?  If  I  should  get  the 
load  of  a  gun  fired  into  my  back — God  deliver 
me  from  it !  Would  the  archbishop  take  it  out 
forme?" 

"  People  don't  throw  such  loads  about  like 
comfits,*  and  it  would  be  indeed  bad  if  these 
scoundrel  dogs  were  to  bite  every  time  they 
bark.  I  have  always  observed  that  the  man 
who  dares  show  his  teeth,  and  stand  up  for 
himself,  is  sure  to  be  respected,  and  it  is  ex- 
actly because  you  never  have  any  mind  of 
your  own,  that  we  are  reduced  to  this  point, 
that  every  body  falls  upon  us  without  leave  or 
license,  to " 

"Will  you  be  silent?" 

"  I  have  done,  but  it  is  most  certain  that 
when  the  world  finds  out,  that  any  one,  al- 
ways, and  upon  every  occasion,  is  ready  to 
submit,  and " 

"  Will  you  be  silent  ?  Is  this  a  time  for  such 
stuff  and  nonsense  ?" 

"Well,  well;  you  will  think  upon  it  to 
night ;  but  in  the  meantime  don't  make  yourself 
ill,  and  ruin  your  health,  take  a  mouthful  of 
something." 

"  I'll  think  of  it,"  grumbled  out  Don  Ab- 
bondio.  "  Certainly  I  shall  think  of  it,  how 
can  I  do  otherwise  than  think  of  it?"  And  he 
got  up,  continuing  "  I'll  take  nothing,  nothing ; 
I've  something  else  to  do — to  be  sure,  I  know 
I  must  think  of  it.  But  that  such  a  business 
should  fall  upon  my  shoulders ;  me,  indeed,  of 
all  the " 

"  Let  this  other  drop  go  down,"  said  Per- 
petua, pouring  it  out,  "you  know  that  this  al- 
ways settles  your  stomach." 

"It  will  take  some  other  medicine  now! 
some  other  medicine  now !  some  other  medi- 
cine now!" 

Thus  exclaiming,  he  took  the  light,  conti- 
nuing to  murmur,  "  quite  a  trifle  to  be  sure  ! 
an  honest  man  like  myself!  What  is  to  be 
done  tomorrow  ?"  And  uttering  similar  com- 
plaints, he  moved  towards  his  oed-chamber. 
Having  reached  the  door,  he  stopped  a  mo- 
ment, and  turning  round  to  Perpetua,  he  placed 
his  lips,  and  with  a  slow  and  so- 


his  finger  on  his  lips, 
lemn  tone,  breathed  out, 
ven !"  and  disappeared. 


1  for  the  love  of  hea- 


*  During  Uie  festival  of  the  Carnival  they  throw 
sugar  conifite  at  each  other  in  the-  street*. 

TRANSL. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WE  are  told  that  the  Prince  of  Conde  slept 
profoundly  the  night  preceding  the  battle  of 
Rocroi ;  but,  first,  he  was  extremely  fatigued, 
and,  secondly,  he  had  made  all  his  necessary 
arrangements,  and  directed  what  was  to  be 
done  in  the  morning.  Don  Abbondio  instead, 
knew  nothing  beyond  the  fact  that  the  next 
day  was  to  be  the  day  of  battle,  and  hence  a 
great  portion  of  the  night  was  spent  in  consul- 
tations with  himself  full  of  anguish.  To  pay 
no  attention  to  the  intimation  of  these  Bravos, 
nor  to  their  threats,  and  celebrate  the  marriage, 
was  a  course  he  would  not  take  the  trouble  to 
reflect  upon.  To  confide  to  Renzo  what  had 
happened,  and  contrive  some  accommodation 
with  him — God  deliver  us  !  "  Be  careful  not 
to  let  a  word  escape,  otherwise — hem — ." 
These  were  the  words  of  one  of  the  Bravos, 
and  the  recollection  of  that  "  hem,"  not  only 
disposed  Don  Abbondio  not  to  transgress  such 
a  law,  but  induced  him  to  repent  his  conversa- 
tion with  Perpetua.  To  fly !  Where  ?  And 
afterwards  ?  How  many  troubles,  and  how 
many  things  to  relate  !  At  every  expedient 
that  he  rejected,  the  poor  man  turned  himself 
over  on  the  other  side.  The  best  method,  as 
it  appeared  to  him,  was  to  gain  time  by  putting 
Renzo  off.  It  occurred  opportunely,  that  but 
a  few  days  were  wanting  to  the  season  when 
all  marriages  were  prohibited — "  And  if  I  can 
talk  that  young  fellow  over  for  those  few  days, 
then  I  shall  have  two  months  to  myself,  and  in 
two  months  many  things  may  happen."  He 
thought  of  various  pretexts  to  bring  forward, 
and  although  they  appeared  rather  slight,  still 
he  encouraged  himself  in  the  thought  that  they 
would  derive  some  weight  from  his  authority, 
and  that  his  great  experience  would  give  him 
an  advantage  over  an  ignorant  youth.  Let  us 
see,  said  he  to  himself:  his  head  is  full  of  his 
mistress,  and  I  am  thinking  about  my  own 
skin.  I  am  most  interested  in  the  matter,  set- 


t,  but  they  sha 
Having  composed  his  mind  with  a  plan  he  de- 
termined to  adopt,  he  at  last  closed  his  eyes ; 
but  such  sleep !  such  dreams  !  Bravos,  Don 
Rodrigo,  Renzo,  winding  roads,  flights,  pur- 
suits, screams,  blunderbusses ! 

The  first  awakening  after  distress  and  trou- 
ble, is  a  bitter  moment.  The  mind  scarce  re- 
posed, recurs  to  the  habitual  idea  of  antece- 
dent tranquillity ;  but  the  thought  of  the  new 
state  of  things  too  soon  rudely  presents  itself, 
and  the  disappointment  is  the  more  keen  at 
that  instantaneous  trial.  Sorrowfully  tasting 
this  bitter  cup,  Don  Abbondio  recapitulated 
the  designs  he  had  formed  over  night,  confirm- 
ed himself  in  them,  arranged  them  in  a  practi- 
cable form,  arose,  and  remained  waiting  for 
Renzo  with  apprehension,  yet  with  impatience. 

Lorenzo,  or  as  every  one  called  him,  Renzo, 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


11 


did  not  oblige  him  to  wait  long.  Scarce  had 
the  hour  arrived,  when  he  thought  he  might 
present  himself  to  the  curate  without  being  in- 
discreet, than  he  went  there  with  the  joyful 
speed  of  a  youth  of  twenty  years  old,  who  was 
on  that  day  to  be  married  to  the  woman  he 
loved.  He  had  been  from  his  childhood  lef 
without  parents,  and  followed  the  trade  of 
silk  spinner,  an  hereditary  occupation — if  the 
expression  may  be  used — in  his  family ;  a 
trade  in  past  years  lucrative  enough,  but  now 
in  a  declining  state ;  though  not  so  much  so, 
but  that  an  expert  workman  might  make  a  very 
honest  livelihood  by  it.  This  branch  of  indus- 
try was  becoming  daily  less  profitable,  but  the 
continual  emigration  of  operatives  into  the 
neighboring  states,  produced  by  promises,  pri- 
vileges, and  great  wages,  was  nevertheless  not 
so  detrimental  as  to  leave  those  who  remained 
without  resources.  Besides  his  trade,  Renzo 
possessed  a  small  place  which  he  caused  to  be 
cultivated,  and  upon  which  he  worked  himself 
when  he  was  not  engaged  in  the  silk  business, 
so  that  his  condition  might  be  called  comfort- 
able. And  although  that  year  was  less  abun- 
dant even  than  the  preceding  ones,  and  a  scar- 
city had  already  begun  to  exist,  still  he,  who 
from  the  moment  he  had  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
Lucia,  had  become  an  economist,  ibund  him- 
self very  well  provided  for,  and  had  not  to 
quarrel  ibr  his  bread.  He  appeared  before  Don 
Abbondio,  in  great  gala,  with  a  plume  of  vari- 
ous colors  in  his  hat,  his  dagger  with  its  hand- 
some handle  in  the  pocket  of  his  trowsers,  and 
with  a  festive  air,  and  a  free  manner  about 
him,  then  common  amongst  the  most  quiet 
men.  The  doubtful  and  mysterious  reception 
which  Don  Abbondio  gave  him,  made  a  singu- 
lar contrast  to  the  joyous  and  resolute  demean- 
or of  the  youth. 

"  He  is  thinking  about  something  or  other," 
said  Renzo  to  himself,  and  then  addressed  him 
thus :  "  I  am  come,  signer,  to  learn  at  what 
hour  it  will  be  convenient  for  us  to  come  to 
church." 

"  What  day  are  you  speaking  of?" 
"  How  ?  what  day  ?  does  not  your  worship 
remember  that  this  is  the  day  fixed  on  ?" 

"  To  day  !"  replied  Don  Abbondio,  as  if  it 
had  been  mentioned  for  the  first  time.  "  To 
day,  to-day,  have  patience ;  but  to-day,  I 
cannot." 

"  You  cannot,  to-day?  "Why,  what  has  hap- 
pened ?" 

"  First — I  am  unwell,  you  see." 
"  I  am  sorry  for  it;  but  what  you  will  have 
to  do,  will  take  such  a  short  time,  and  will  fa- 
tigue you  so  little — " 

"  Besides — besides — besides — " 
"  And  what  besides,  signor  curate  ?" 
"  Besides  there  are  some  difficulties." 
"  Difficulties  ?  what  difficulties  can  there 
be?" 

"  You  must  be  in  my  place  to  know  the  dif- 
ficulties that  are  in  these  affairs — how  many 
things  to  give  an  account  of.  I  am  too  good 
natured,  I  think  of  nothing  but  removing  ob- 


stacles, and  of  facilitating  every  thing,  and  of 
doing  things  to  gratify  other  people.  I  go  be- 
yond my  own  duty,  and  then  reproaches  are 
thrown  at  me,  and  worse." 

"  But,  in  the  name  of  heaven,  don't  kee"p 
me  in  this  suspense ;  and  tell  me  at  once  what 
the  reason  is !" 

"  Do  you  know  how  many  formalities  are 
necessary  to  constitute  a  regular  marriage  ?" 

"  I  ought  to  know  something  of  it,  said 
Renzo,  beginning  to  get  warm,  "  for  you  have 
put  me  to  trouble  enough  for  some  days  past. 
But  now,  has  not  your  worship  expedited 
every  thing— is  not  every  thing  done  that  was 
to  be  done  ?" 

"Every  thing,  every  thing,  as  it  appears  to 
you :  have  patience,  therefore.  I  am  an  ass, 
and  go  beyond  my  duty,  that  I  may  not  give 
pain  to  others.  But  now — well,  well — enough 
— I  know  what  I  say.  We  poor  curates  are 
between  the  anvil  and  the  hammer.  You  are 
impatient — I  pity  you,  poor  young  man,  and 
my  superiors — enough — I  must  not  tell  every 
thing.  Aye,  aye,  we  are  thrust  in  between.  ' 

"  But  explain  to  me  at  once,  what  is  this 

tjr  formality  to  be  attended  to,  and  it  shall  be 
e  directly." 

"  Do  you  know  how  many  direct  impedi- 
ments there  are  ?" 

"  What  should  I  know  about  impediments, 
your  worship?" 

"  Error,  conditio,  voium,  cognatio,  crimen, 

"  Caltus,  disparitas,  vis,  ordo, 

"  Si  sis  affinis — " 

"  Are  you  making  game  of  me  ?  What  can 
I  make  of  your  worship's  latinorum?" 

"If  you  don't  know  these  things  then,  have 
patience,  and  be  satisfied  with  those  who  do 
know  them." 

"  Oh,  oh — indeed." 

"  Come,  dear  Renzo,  don't  get  angry,  for  I 
am  ready  to  do  every  thing  that  depends  upon 
me.  I — I  want  to  see  you  happy.  Eh !  when 
I  think  how  comfortably  you  was  living,  that 
you  wanted  nothing,  and  then  this  whim  about 
matrimony  to  get  into  your  head — " 

"  Why,  what  strange  language  this  is,  sig- 
nor," broke  out  Renzo,  with  an  expression 
of  countenance  betwixt  astonishment  and 
anger. 

"  I  am  only  telling  you — have  patience — I 
am  only  telling  you — I  wish  you  would  be 
content." 

"  In  the  end,  then — " 

"  In  the  end,  then,  dear  son,  I  am  not  to 
)lame  ;  the  law  was  not  made  by  me,  and  be- 
bre  concluding  a  marriage,  we  are  expressly 
)bliged  to  make  many  and  many  inquiries,  to 
>e  sure  that  there  are  no  impediments." 

"  Oh  stuff — tell  me  at  once  what  impedi- 
ment has  sprung  up  ?" 

"  Have  patience,  these  are  not  things  to  de- 
:ypher  thus,  standing  up  on  our  feet.  It  will 
>e  nothing  at  all,  so  I  hope ;  but  neither  more 
lor  less,  there  are  inquiries  that  must  be  made. 
The  text  is  clear  and  obvious,  antequam  ma- 
trimmium  dcnuntiet — " 


12 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


"  I  have  told  you  I  will  have  none  of  your 
latin." 

"  But  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  explain  to 
you — " 

"  But  have  not  you  once  made  these  in- 
quiries ?" 

"  I  have  not  made  them  all,  as  I  ought  to 
have  made  them,  I  tell  you." 

"  Why  did  not  you  make  them  in  season  ? 
Why  tefl  me  every  thing  was  prepared  ?  Why 
wait—" 

"  There  now  J  You  reproach  me  for  my  too 
exceeding  goodness.  I  have  facilitated  every 
thing  to  serve  you  more  promptly  ;  but — but 
now  things  have — enough,  I  know." 

"  And  what  does  your  worship  expect  me  to 
do?" 

"  Have  patience  for  a  day  or  two,  dear  son, 
a  day  or  two  is  not  eternity — have  patience." 

"For  how  long?" 

We  are  in  port  now,  said  Don  Abbondio 
to  himself,  and  putting  on  an  affable  air, 
"  Come,"  said  he,  "  in  a  fortnight,  I  will  try 
and — " 

"  Fifteen  days,  why  this  is  something  strange 
indeed.  Every  thing  that  you  wished  tofe 
done,  has  been  done  ;  the  day  has  been  fixra, 
and  the  day  has  arrived,  and  now  I  am  told  to 
wait  fifteen  days.  Fifteen !"  said  he,  in  a  high 
and  angry  tone,  extending  his  arm,  and  flour- 
ishing his  fist  in  the  air.  There  is  no  know- 
ing with  what  act  he  would  have  followed  the 
expression  of  that  number,  if  Don  Abbondio, 
taking  him  by  the  arm  in  an  earnest,  yet  af- 
fectionate and  timid  manner,  had  not  stopped 
him,  saying,  "  Come,  come,  don't  get  warm, 
for  the  love  of  heaven.  I  will  try — I  will  see 
if  in  a  week  I  can — " 

"  And  Lucia,  what  shall  I  say  to  her?" 

"  That  it  has  been  a  mistake  of  my  own." 

"  And  the  scandal  there  will  be  about  it." 

"  Say  that  I  have  made  a  mistake,  from  too 
much  haste,  too  much  inclination  to  serve  you. 
Throw  all  the  blame  on  me.  Can  I  say  more  ? 
Come,  in  one  week." 

"  And  after  that,  will  there  be  no  impedi- 
ment?" 

"  When  I  tell  you "      • 

"  Well,  I  will  keep  quiet  for  a  week,  but  re- 
member when  that  is  over,  I  will  not  be  put 
off  with  talking,  and  so  good  day."  Having 
said  this,  he  leu  the  curate  with  a  somewhat 
atifl'er  bow  than  he  was  accustomed  to  make, 
and  with  a  look  that  had  not  much  reverence 
in  its  expression. 

Having  got  into  the  road,  he  directed  his 
steps  with  a  disappointed  heart,  towards  the 
house  of  his  betrothed ;  amidst  his  vexation 
the  colloquy  he  had  had  with  the  curate  was 
revolved  in  his  mind,  and  every  time  it  ap- 
peared still  more  extraordinary  to  him.  The 
cold  and  embarrassed  reception  of  Don  Abbon- 
dio, his  language  at  once  restrained  and  impa- 
tient, his  two  grey  eyes,  which.while  he  spoke, 
were  wandenng  about  here  and  there,  as  if 
they  were  afraid  to  meet  even  the  words  that 
were  issuing  from  his  lips,  his  affected  igno- 


rance of  the  appointment  which  had  been  ex- 
pressly concerted,  and  above  all,  his  alluding 
to  some  great  reason,  about  which  he  had 
never  expressed  himself  clearly :  all  these  cir- 
cumstances put  together,  induced  Renzo  to 
think  that  there  was  some  mystery  in  the  af- 
fair, that  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  excuses 
Don  Abbondio  had  given  him.  The  youth  was 
upon  the  very  point  of  turning  back  again,  to 
question  him  more  closely,  and  make  him  ex- 
plain himself  more  clearly,  but  raising  his 
eyes,  he  saw  Perpetua  a  little  before  him,  who 
was  going  into  a  small  garden  a  few  paces 
from  the  house.  Calling  to  her  to  open  the 
wicket,  he  quickened  his  pace,  joined  her. 
and  detained  ner  there,  with  a  view  to  engage 
her  in  conversation,  that  he  might  get  out  of 
her  something  more  satisfactory. 

"  Good  day,  Perpetua ;  I  had  hoped  that  to- 
day we  should  all  have  been  very  merry  to- 
gether." 

"Ah,  poor  Renzo;  but  God's  will  must  be 
done." 

"  Do  me  a  favor.  The  signor  curate  has 
been  making  a  fool  of  me  with  certain  reasons 
I  have  not  been  able  to  comprehend ;  explain 
to  me  better  why  he  cannot  or  will  not  marry 
us  to  day." 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  I  know  my  master's  se- 
crets?" 

There  is  some  mystery  in  it,  as  I  supposed, 
thought  Renzo,  and  to  lead  her  on  he  said, 

"  Come  Perpetua,  let  us  be  friends,  tell  me 
what  you  know,  help  a  poor  young  fellow." 

"  A  bad  thing  to  be  born  poor,  my  dear  Ren- 
zo!" 

"  It  is  true,"  he  replied,  his  suspicions  be- 
coming stronger,  and  to  get  a  little  nearer  to 
the  matter,  added  "  It  is  true,  but  is  it  for 
priests  to  act  unfairly  with  poor  people  ?" 

"  Listen,  Renzo,  I  can  say  nothing,  because 

1 — I  know  nothing ;  but  I  can  assure  you 

this,  that  my  master  does  not  wish  to  do  you  or 
any  one  else  wrong,  he  is  not  to  blame." 

"  Whose  fault  is  it  then  ?"  asked  Renzo, 
with  a  negligent  manner,  but  with  his  heart 
drawn  up,  and  his  ear  all  intent. 

"  When  I  tell  you  that  I  know  nothing 

Why,  I  may  speak  in  defence  of  my  master,  it 
distresses  me  when  people  make  him  do  things 
that  are  disobliging  to  others.  Poor  man !  if 
he  does  wrong,  it  is  from  too  much  goodness. 
There  is  plenty  enough  in  this  world  of  rogues, 
and  of  rich  and  powerful  people,  of  men  with- 
out the  fear  of  God " 

Rogues !  rich  and  powerful  people,  thought 
Renzo,  these  are  not  his  superiors  he  talked 
of. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  concealing  his  agitation 
with  an  effort, "  come,  tell  me  who  it  is." 

"  Ah,  you  want  to  make  me  tell,  and  I  can 
tell  nothing — because — I  know  nothing ;  when 
one  knows  nothing,  it's  all  the  same  as  if  one 
had  sworn  to  be  silent.  If  you  was  to  put  me 
to  the  rack,  you  would  not  get  a  word  out  of 
me.  Addio,  it's  time  lost  to  both  of  us."  Say- 
ing this,  she  hastily  entered  the  garden,  and 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


13 


shut  the  gate.  Renzo,  bidding  her  good  bye, 
turned  back  gently,  lest  at  the  noise  of  his 
footsteps  she  might  be  aware  of  the  direction 
he  was  going  in,  but  when  he  was  out  of  her 
hearing,  he  quickened  his  steps,  reached  the 
door  ot  Don  Abbondio  in  a  moment,  entered 
the  house,  went  straight  to  the  room  where  he 
had  left  him,  found  him  there,  and  went  up  to 
him  with  a  bold  air,  and  with  fury  in  his  eyes. 
"Eh,  what  novelty  is  this?"  said  Don  Ab- 
bondio. 

"  Who  is  that  rich  and  powerful  person," 
said  Renzo  with  the  voice  of  a  man  resolved 
to  obtain  a  precise  answer,  "  who  is  that  rich 
and  powerful  person  who  will  not  permit  me 
to  espouse  Lucia  ?" 

"  What  ?  what  ?  what  ?"  stammered  out  the 
poor  surprised  man,  with  a  countenance  as 
white  and  as  flabby  as  a  piece  of  linen  from 
the  washtub.  And  continuing  to  stammer,  he 
made  a  spring  from  his  seat  to  gain  the  door. 
But  Renzo  who  was  prepared  for  such  a  move- 
ment, was  upon  the  alert,  got  to  the  door  be- 
fore him,  locked  it,  and  put  the  key  in  his 
pocket. 

"  Ah !  ah !  Mr.  curate,  will  you  speak  now  ? 
Every  body  knows  my  affairs,  except  myself, 
and  now  I'll  know  them,  per  bacco,  myself. 
What  is  his  name?" 

"Renzo,  Renzo,  for  charity's  sake,  think  of 
what  you  are  doing!  Don't  endanger  your 
soul." 

"  I  think  that  I  am  determined  to  know  it 
instantly,  this  very  moment."  And  perhaps 
without  being  aware  of  it,  as  he  finished,  he 
laid  his  hand  on  the  handle  of  the  dagger, 
that  stood  out  of  his  pocket. 

"  Mercy !"  cried  out  Don  Abbondio  with  a 
weak  voice. 

"  I  will  know  it." 

"  Who  has  told  you :" 

"  No,  no,  no ;  no  more  talking.  Speak  out 
and  quietly." 

"  Do  you  desire  my  death  ?" 

"  I  am  determined  to  know  what  I  have  a 
right  to  know." 

"  But  if  I  tell,  I  am  a  dead  man.  Is  my  life 
of  no  consequence  to  me  ?" 

"  Then  tell  me." 

These  last  words  were  uttered  with  so  much 
energy,  the  countenance  of  Renzo  became  so 
menacing,  that  Don  Abbondio  could  no  longer 
suppose  it  possible  for  him  to  disobey. 

"  You  promise  me — you  swear,"  said  he, 
"  to  speak  to  no  one,  never  to  tell ?" 

"  I  promise  you,  I  will  do  a  very  extravagant 
thing,  if  you  do  not  tell  me  this  moment  the 
name  of  him " 

At  this  new  conjuration,  Don  Abbondio, 
with  a  countenance  as  much  in  agony,  as 
if  a  dentist  had  his  instrument  in  his  mouth, 
articulated  "  Don " 

"  Don,"  repeated  Renzo,  as  if  to  aid  his  pa- 
tient to  get  out  the  rest ;  stooping  down  with 
his  ear  near  to  the  curate's  mouth,  his  arms 
stretched  out,  and  his  fists  clenched  behind 
him. 


"Don  Rodrigo  !"  said  he.  with  a  compelled 
haste,  devouring  the  syllables,  and  grinding 
the  consonants,  partly  on  account  of  nis  agi- 
tation, and  partly  because  turning  all  the  at- 
tention he  was  free  to  give,  to  a  transaction  to 
be  consummated  between  two  fears,  he  seem- 
ed as  if  he  was  desirous  of  utterly  extinguish- 
ing the  word,  at  the  very  moment  he  was 
forced  to  utter  it. 

"  Ah,  dog !"  screamed  out  Renzo.  "  And 
what  course  has  he  taken — what  has  he  told 
you  to ?" 

"  How  ?  eh  !  How  ?"  replied  Don  Abbondio, 
with  a  somewhat  reproachful  tone ;  for  having 
made  so  great  a  sacrifice,  he  felt  that  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  he  was  become  creditor  in  the  af- 
fair. "  How  ?  eh  !  I  wish  it  had  been  brought 
to  your  door,  as  it  has  been  brought  to  mine, 
who  have  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  it:  cer- 
tainly you  would  not  have  had  so  many  whims 
in  your  head."  And  here,  he  began  to  paint 
in  terrible  colors,  the  fearful  meeting  he  had 
had,  and  in  relating  it  becoming  more  and 
more  aware  of  the  great  indignation  which 
was  in  him,  and  which  until  then  had  been 
hidden  and  kept  under  by  his  fears ;  and  per- 
ceiving at  the  same  time,  that  Renzo  between 
vexation  and  confusion,  remained  immovable 
with  his  head  down,  he  continued  gaily,  "  a 
fine  action  you  have  committed,  indeed,  have 
not  you  ?  A  fine  service  you  have  rendered 
me !  A  feat  of  this  sort  to  your  curate,  in 
his  own  house  !  In  a  sacred  place  !  A  pretty 
transaction  you  have  made  of  it !  To  bring 
my  misfortune  out  of  my  own  mouth !  Your 
misfortune !  What  I  was  concealing  from 
you,  from  prudence,  for  your  good  !  And  now 
that  you. know  all  about  it,  I  should  like  to 
know  what  you  will  do  for  me  !  For  the  love 
of  heaven  !  This  is  no  joke.  This  is  no  af- 
fair of  right  and  wrong,  it  is  a  matter  of  force. 
And  this  morning  when  I  gave  you  good 
counsel — eh  !  all  in  a  fury  at  once,  I  had  pru- 
dence both  for  you  and  for  me,  but  what  is 
to  be  done  ?  Open  the  door  at  least,  give  me 
my  key." 

"  I  may  have  erred,"  replied  Renzo,  with 
a  more  appeased  tone,  but  in  which  his  fury 
towards  nis  discovered  enemy  was  obvious, 
"  I  may  have  erred,  but  put  your  hand  upon 
your  heart,  and  reflect  if  in  my  case — " 

Saying  this,  he  drew  the  key  from  his 
pocket,  and  was  going  to  unlock  the  door. 
Don  Abbondio  followed,  and  whilst  Renzo 
was  turning  the  key  in  the  lock,  he  came  to 
his  side,  and  with  a  serious  and  anxious  look, 
lifting  to  his  eyes  the  three  first  fingers  of  his 
right  nand,  "  Swear  at  least,"  said  he. 

•'  I  may  have  erred,  and  pray  excuse  me," 
replied  Renzo,  opening  the  door  and  stepping 
outwards. 

"  Swear — "  replied  Don  Abbondio,  fasten- 
ing on  his  arm  with  a  trembling  hand. 

"  I  may  have  erred,"  repeated  Renzo,  free- 
ing himself  from  his  grasp,  and  going  off  in 
fury ;  thus  cutting  short  the  controversy,  which, 
like  many  others  in  literature  philosophy,  and 


14 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


the  like,  might  have  lasted  a  couple  of  ages, 
since  each  of  the  parties  did  nothing  but  re- 
assert his  own  proposition. 

"Perpetual  Perpetual"  cried  out  Don 
Abbondio,  when  he  had  in  vain  called  after  the 
fugitive.  Perpetua  did  not  answer,  and  Don 
Abbondio  no  longer  knew  where  he  was. 

It  has  more  than  once  happened  to  person- 
ages of  greater  importance  than  Don  Abbon- 
dio, to  find  themselves  in  such  painful  embar- 
rassments, in  such  incertitude  aoout  remedies, 
that  it  has  appeared  to  them  an  excellent  re- 
source to  go  to  bed  with  a  fever.  This  resource 
Don  Abbondio  was  not  compelled  to  go  and 
seek,  for  it  came  to  him  of  itself.  The  fright 
of  the  preceding  day,  the  sorrowful  vigil  of 
the  past  night,  the  apprehensions  he  had  just 
gone  through,  and  his  dread  of  the  future, 
produced  their  effect.  Worn  out  and  unnerv- 
ed, he  sank  into  his  large  chair,  and  feeling  a 
cold  creeping  in  his  bones,  he  looked  at  his 
nails,  sighing,  and  calling  out  from  time  to 
time,  with  a  tremulous  and  fretful  voice, 
"Perpetua!" 

She  arrived  at  last,  with  a  large  cabbage 
under  her  arm,  and  with  an  unconcerned  face, 
as  if  nothing  was  the  matter.  The  reader  will 
be  spared  the  lamentations,  the  condolences, 
the  accusations,  the  defences,  the  "  you  alone 
could  have  told  him, "and  the  "  I  have  told  him 
nothing,"  and  all  the  confusion  of  such  a  col- 
loquy. Let  it  suffice  to  know,  that  Don  Ab- 
bondio directed  Perpetua  to  make  the  door 
as  fast  as  she  could,  not  to  set  her  foot  there 
any  more ;  and  if  any  one  should  knock,  to 
answer  from  the  window,  that  the  curate  was 
laid  up  with  a  fever.  Slowly  he  went  up 
stairs,  saying  at  every  third  step,  "  I've  got  it 
now,"  and  went  really  to  bed,  where  we  will 
leave  him. 

Renzo,  in  the  mean  time,  went  with  an  agi- 
tated step  homewards,  without  having  deter- 
mined what  he  ought  to  do,  but  with  a  fren- 
zied inclination  to  do  something  strange  and 
terrible.  Evil  doers  and  fraudulent  men,  all 
who  in  any  manner  do  an  injury  to  others, 
are  responsible  not  only  for  the  injustice  they 
themselves  commit,  but  for  the  rash  actions  to 
which  they  prdVokc  those  whom  they  offend. 
Renzo  was  a  pacific  young  man,  averse  to  the 
shedding  of  blood,  a  frank  youth  holding  snares 
of  every  kind  in  abhorrence  ;  but  at  that  mo- 
ment his  heart  was  throbbing  with  the  desire 
to  commit  homicide,  and  his  mind  occupied 
solely  in  contriving  treachery.  He  would  have 
gone  to  the  residence  of  Don  Rodrigo,  would 

nave  seized  him  by  the  throat,  and but  he 

remembered  that  it  was  a  kind  of  fortress,  fill- 
ed with  Bravos  within,  and  guarded  without ; 
that  none  but  friends  and  servants  well  known 
had  free  entrance,  without  being  minutely 
examined  from  head  to  foot :  that  an  unknown 
artizan  could  not  put  his  foot  there  without  a 
strict  investigation, -and  that  he  above  all — he 
perhaps  would  be  too  well  known.  He  then 
fancied  himself  taking  his  arquebuss,  con- 
cealing himself  behind  a  hedge,  watching 


there,  if  he  should  ever  come  that  way  alone  ; 
and,  exciting  his  imagination  with  lerocious 
pleasure,  he  figured  to  himself  an  approach- 
ing footstep,  and  the  individual  quietly  raising 
up  his  head :  he  recognizes  the  villanous 
wretch,  presents  his  piece,  takes  aim,  fires, 
sees  him  fall  and  give  the  last  shudder,  flings 
him  a  malediction,  and  flies  beyond  the  bor- 
ders, to  put  himself  in  safety. 

And  Lucia  ?  Scarce  did  this  word  cross  the 
path  of  these  dishonest  fancies,  when  the  purer 
thoughts  to  which  Renzo's  mind  was  accus- 
tomed, crowded  in  upon  him.  His  last  recol- 
lections of  his  parents  flashed  upon  him ;  he 
thought  of  God,  of  the  Virgin,  and  the  Saints ; 
he  thought  of  the  consolations  he  had  so  often 
experienced  at  feeling  unconscious  of  crime, 
at  the  horror  he  had  so  often  experienced 
at  the  news  of  a  homicide ;  and  he  awoke 
from  that  dream  of  blood,  with  dread,  with 
remorse,  together  with  a  kind  of  joy  that 
it  was  nothing  but  imagination.  But  the 
thought  of  Lucia !  How  many  thoughts  did 
not  that  bring  with  it '  So  many  hopes,  so 
many  promises,  such  an  enchanting  future, 
deemed  too  so  certain,  and  the  day  so  long 
sighed  for!  And  then  how,  with  what  lan- 
guage to  announce  to  her  such  information  ? 
And  what  course  to  adopt  ?  How  to  make  her 
his  own,  against  the  power  of  that  wicked 
man  ?  Together  with  all  this,  was  mingled, 
not  suspicion  that  had  taken  any  form,  but  a 
tormenting  cloud  that  passed  across  his  mind 
each  instant.  This  villany  of  Don  Rodrigo 
could  proceed  from  no  other  cause  but  a  brutal 
passion  for  Lucia.  And  Lucia?  That  she 
should  have  held  out  any  encouragement,  or 
have  been  wanting  in  the  slightest  propriety, 
was  a  thought  that  his  mind  could  not  harbor 
for  an  instant.  But  did  she  know  any  thing  of 
it?  Could  he  have  conceived  his  infamous 
passion  without  her  being  aware  of  it  ?  Would 
ne  have  carried  things  to  such  an  extremity, 
before  he  had  approached  her  in  any  degree  ? 
Lucia  had  never  said  a  word  to  him  about  it, 
her  betrothed  husband. 

Under  the  influence  of  these  thoughts,  he 
passed  through  the  village,  in  the  centre  of 
which  his  own  house  stood,  and  went  to  Lu- 
cia's, which  was  at  the  other  extremity.  The 
cottage  had  a  small  court  before  it,  which  se- 
parated it  from  the  street,  and  was  surrounded 
by  a  low  wall.  Renzo  walked  into  the  court- 
yard, and  heard  a  mingled  and  continuous  cla- 
mor which  proceeded  from  an  upper  chamber. 
Supposing  that  some  friends  and  gossips  were 
come  to  pay  their  court  to  Lucia,  he  thought 
it  best  not  to  join  them,  with  such  intelligence 
as  he  bore,  both  in  his  person  and  countenance. 
A  young  girl,  who  was  in  the  court,  ran  to- 
wards him,  crying  out  "  the  bridegroom !  the 
arideeroom !" 

'  Hush,  Bettina,  hush  !"  said  Renzo,  "come 
here ;  go  up  stairs  to  Lucia,  take  her  aside,  and 
whisper  in  her  ear — so  that  no  one  may  hear 
you,  or  suspect  any  thing — go,  tell  her  I  want 
to  speak  to  her,  that  I  am  waiting  for  her  in 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


15 


the  lower  room  and  that  she  must  come  di- 
rectly. The  little  girl  ran  up  stairs  in  great 
haste,  delighted  and  proud  at  having  a  secret 
embassy  to  execute. 

Lucia  at  that  moment  had  come  out  of  her 
mother's  hands,  attired  for  the  occasion.  The 
women  were  snatching  the  bride  from  each 
other,  and  pulling  her  about  that  they  might 
look  at  her,  whilst  she  was  defending  herself 
with  a  sort  of  amazonian  modesty  from  the 

food  rustics ;  shielding  her  face  with  her  el- 
ow,  hiding  it  in  her  bosom,  and  drawing  into 
a  pretended  frown  her  long  and  black  eye- 
brows, whilst  a  smile  was  resting  on  her 
mouth.  Her  dark  and  youthful  locks  parted 
in  front  by  a  white  and  narrow  seam,  were 
gathered  behind  into  multiplied  circular  tress- 
es, fastened  by  long  pins  of  silver,  arranged 
around  into  the  form  of  the  rays  of  an  aureole 
or  glory,  as  they  are  yet  worn  by  the  country 
maidens  of  the  Milanese.  Around  her  neck 
she  had  a  collar  of  garnets  alternating  with 
buttons  of  gold  filagree ;  her  waist  was  a  bro- 
cade embroidered  with  flowers,  with  the  sleeves 
divided  and  tied  in  knots  of  handsome  ribbons ; 
she  wore  a  short  petticoat  of  a  worked  silk, 
with  numerous  and  minute  folds,  a  pair  of  ver- 
milion stockings,  and  silk  embroidered  shoes. 
Besides  these,  which  were  peculiar  to  nuptial 
occasions,  Lucia  had  a  great  share  of  modest 
beauty,  now  enhanced  and  made  more  expres- 
sive through  the  various  feelings  depicted  on 
her  countenance :  joy  tempered  by  a  slight 
agitation,  that  placid  sort  of  reluctance  which 
now  and  then  appears  on  the  countenance  of  a 
bride,  and  which  without  discomposing  beau- 
ty, communicates  a  particular  and  interesting 
character  to  it. 

Little  Bettina  got  into  the  crowd,  drew  near 
to  Lucia,  and  with  great  address  making  her 
understand  she  had  something  to  communicate 
to  her,  whispered  into  her  ear. 

"  I  am  going  for  a  moment,  and  will  return," 
said  Lucia  to  the  women,  and  went  down 
stairs  in  haste.  On  perceiving  the  altered 
countenance  and  demeanor  of  Renzo,  "  What 
has  happened  ?"  said  she,  not  without  a  pre- 
sentiment of  terror. 

"  Lucia  !."  answered  Renzo,  "  all  our  pre- 
parations go  for  nothing,  and  God  knows  when 
we  can  be  husband  and  wife." 

"  What  ?"  said  Lucia,  quite  dismayed.  Ren- 
zo related  to  her  briefly  the  occurrences  of  the 
morning ;  she  listened  to  him  with  anguish, 
and  when  she  heard  the  name  of  Don  Rodri- 
go, "  Ah !"  she  exclaimed,  blushing  and  trem- 
bling, "  has  he  gone  to  this  length  ?" 

"  Then  you  knew  something —  ?"  said  Ren- 
zo. 

"Too  much!"  she  answered,  "but  to  go 
this  length !" 

"  What  did  you  know  ?" 

"Don't  make  me  tell  now,  don't  make  me 
cry.  I  will  run  and  call  my  mother,  and  send 
all  the  women  away ;  we  must  be  alone." 

Whilst  she  was  going,  Renzo  murmured, 
"  You  never  told  me  any  thing — ." 


"Ah,  Renzo !"  replied  Lucia,  turning  round, 
but  without  stopping.  Renzo  perfectly  un- 
derstood that  his  name  uttered  at  that  moment, 
with  that  tone,  was  as  expressive  as  if  she  had 
said — can  you  doubt  that  my  silence  has  pro- 
ceeded from  any  but  just  and  pure  motives  ? 
In  the  moan  time,  the  good  Agnes — the  name 
of  Lucia's  mother — both  suspicious  and  curi- 
ous at  the  little  girl's  whispering  to  her,  and 
her  disappearance,  went  down  stairs  to  know 
the  cause.  Her  daughter  left  her  with  Renzo, 
returned  to  the  assembled  women,  and  com- 
posing her  features  and  voice  as  well  as  she 
could,  said,  "  The  curate  is  sick,  and  there 
will  be  nothing  done  to  day."  Having  said 
this,  she  saluted  them  in  haste,  and  went  down 
stairs  again. 

The  women  filed  off,  and  scattered  them- 
selves to  relate  what  had  happened,  and  to  as- 
certain if  Don  Abbondio  was  in  reality  unwell. 
The  verification  of  the  fact  cut  off  all  the  con- 
jectures that  already  began  to  work  in  their 
heads,  and  to  announce  themselves  in  broken 
and  mysterious  phrases. 


CHAPTER  III. 

LUCIA  entered  the  room  on  the  ground  floor, 
where  Renzo  in  great  distress  was  telling  Ag- 
nes what  she  was  in  great  anguish  listening  to. 
Both  of  them  turned  to  one  who  knew  more 
than  either  of  them,  and  from  whom  they 
waited  for  an  explanation  which  could  not  but 
be  painful ;  and  both  of  them  amidst  their  un- 
happiness,  and  with  the  different  kind  of  af- 
fection that  they  bore  to  Lucia,  suffering  a 
different  kind  of  displeasure  to  appear,  De- 
cause  she  had  concealed  any  thing  from  them, 
and  especially  a  matter  of  this  kind.  Agnes, 
although  anxious  to  hear  her  daughter,  could 
not  restrain  herself  from  reproaching  her  "  not 
to  tell  your  own  mother  such  an  affair  as  this  ! " 

"I'll  tell  you  everything  now,"  answered 
Lucia,  wiping  her  eyes  with  her  apron. 

"  Speak  out,  speak  out,  speak,  speak !"  ex- 
claimed at  once  both  her  mother  and  her 
lover. 

"  Holy  virgin!  "exclaimed  Lucia,"  who  would 
have  believed  that  things  could  have  been 
carried  so  far  as  this."  And  then,  with  a  voice 
broken  by  sob?,  she  related  how,  a  few  days 
before,  returning  from  the  filature,  a  little  be- 
hind her  companions,  Don  Rodrigo  in  compa- 
ny with  another  gentleman  passed  her  on  the 
road ;  that  he  tried  to  draw  her  into  a  conver- 
sation, not  over  and  above  proper,  she  said, 
but  without  giving  him  any  encouragement, 
she  quickened  her  stefps  and  joined  her  com- 
panions ;  in  the  meantime  she  heard  the  other 
cavalier  laugh  aloud,  and  Don  Rodrigo  say, 
"Well,  let  us  wager?"  They  next  day  they 
were  again  in  the  road,  but  Lucia  was  in  the 
midst  of  her  companions  with  her  eyes  bent  to 


16 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


the  ground,  and  the  gentleman  giggled,  and 
Don  Rodrigo  said,  "  We'll  see,  We'll  see !" 

By  the  blessing  of  Providence,  continued 
Lucia,  "  that  day  was  the  last  of  the  filature.  I 
immediately  told " 

"  Who  did  you  tell  it  to  ?"  asked  Agnes,  go- 
ing close  up  to  her,  not  without  a  little  temper, 
at  finding  there  was  a  preferred  confidant. 

"  To  father  Christopher,  in  confession,  mam- 
ma," answered  Lucia,  with  a  gentle  excusing 
voice,  "  I  told  him  every  thing  the  last  time 
we  went  together  to  the  church  of  the  convent, 
and  if  you  remember,  that  morning  I  first  be- 
gan with  one  thing,  and  then  with  another,  to 
delay  until  other  country  people  should  be 
passing  the  same  road,  that  we  might  have 
company ;  for  after  that  meeting  I  was  afraid 
to  be  in  the  road " 

At  the  revered  name  of  father  Christopher, 
the  anger  of  Agnes  was  appeased.  "  You  did 
right,"  said  she,  "  but  why  not  tell  your  own 
mother  also?" 

Lucia  had  had  two  excellent  reasons  for  her 
silence  ;  one  was,  that  she  might  neither 
frighten  the  good  lady,  nor  make  her  unhappy 
about  an  affair  she  had  no  remedy  for  ;  and  the 
other  was,  that  she  did  not  like  to  run  the  risk 
of  putting  a  story  on  its  travels  through  so 
many  mouths,  which  ought  to  be  most  jeal- 
ously buried  in  her  own  bosom  ;  besides,  too, 
she  hoped  that  her  marriage  would  at  once 
nave  put  an  end  to  such  a  detestable  persecu- 
tion. Of  these  two  reasons,  she  only  gave  her 
mother  the  first. 

"And  to  you,"  she  then  said,  turning  to 
Renzo,  with  that  tone  which  convinces  a  friend 
he  has  been  in  the  wrong,  "  and  was  it  right 
for  me  to  tell  you  all  this  ?  You  know  it  too 
well  now  to  my  sorrow." 

"  And  what  did  the  father  tell  you  ?"  asked 
Agnes. 

"He  told  me  to  hasten  my  marriage  as 
much  as  I  could,  and  in  the  meantime  to  keep 
close  in  the  house.  He  told  me  too  to  pray 
to  God,  and  that  he  hoped  that  Don  Rodrigo 
not  seeing  me  any  more,  would  forget  me. 
And  then  it  was  that  I  did  violence  to  myself," 
pursued  she,  turning  again  to  Renzo,  without 
however  raising  her  eyes  to  his  face,  and 
blushing  all  over,  "  then  it  was  I  put  aside 
shame,  and  asked  you  to  have  our  marriage 
celebrated  as  soon  as  possible,  and  before  the 
time  we  had  fixed  on.  I  don't  know  what  you 
may  have  thought  of  me  !  But  I  did  it  for  the 
best,  I  was  advised  to  it,  and  I  thought  certain- 
ly— and  this  morning  I  was  far  from  think- 
ing  "  Here  Lucia's  words  were  drowned 

in  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  Ah  villain,  scoundrel,  assassin  !"  exclaim  - 
•  ed  Renzo,  striding  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
grasping  from  time  to  time  the  handle  of  his 
dagger. 

"  Oh.what  a  perplexity,  for  the  love  of  God ! " 
said  Agnes.  The  youth  suddenly  stopped  be- 
fore the  weeping  Lucia,  looked  at  her  with 
tenderness,  grief;  and  rage,  and  said,  "  this  is 
the  last  time  that  assassin " 


"Ah,  no,  Renzo,  for  the  love  of  heaven !" 
cried  out  Lucia.  "  No,  no,  for  the  love  of 
heaven,  there  is  a  God  also  for  the  poor,  and 
how  can  we  expect  him  to  aid  us,  if  we  do 
evil  ?" 

"  No,  no,  for  the  love  of  heaven,"  repeated 
Agnes. 

"  Renzo,"  said  Lucia  with  a  look  of  hope, 
and  an  appearance  of  tranquil  resolution, "  you 
have  a  trade,  and  I  know  how  to  work,  let  us 
go  so  far  off,  that  he  may  never  hear  us  spoken 
of  again." 

"Ah  Lucia,  and  then  ?  We  are  not  yet  man 
and  wife  !  Will  the  curate  give  us  a  certificate 
of  our  being  free  from  all  other  engagements? 
That  man  ?  If  we  were  married,  ay,  then " 

Lucia  began  to  weep  again,  and  all  three  re- 
mained in  silence,  rendered  mute  by  a  con- 
sternation, which  presented  a  sorrowful  con- 
trast to  the  festive  oravery  of  their  garments. 

"  Listen,  my  children,  give  attention  to  me," 
said  Agnes  after  a  moment  or  two,  "  I  came 
into  the  world  before  you,  and  I  know  it  a  lit- 
tle. It  is  best  not  to  alarm  ourselves  too 
much,  the  devil  himself  is  not  as  ugly  as 
they  paint  him.  To  us  poor  people,  the  skeins 
always  appear  the  more  raveled,  because  we 
don't  know  how  to  look  for  the  end  of  the 
thread;  but  sometimes  an  opinion,  a  word 
from  a  man  who  has  studied — I  know  what  I 
mean  to  say.  Follow  my  plan,  Renzo,  go  to 
Lecco,  seek  out  Doctor  Azzecca-garbugli,* 
tell  him — but  don't  call  him  so  for  the  love  of 
heaven,  for  it  is  a  nick  name — you  must  call 
him  signer  doctor — how  is  it  he  calls  himself? 
Oh  tut,  tut,  tut,  what  is  his  true  name  ?  every 
body  calif  him  by  his  nick  name.  Never  mind, 
find  that  tall,  dry,  skinny  doctor,  with  a  red 
nose,  and  a  raspberry  mark  on  his  cheek  " 

"  I  know  him  by  sight,"  said  Renzo. 

"  Well,"  continued  Agnes,  that's  the  man 
for  your  business  !  I  have  seen  more  than  one, 
in  as  great  trouble  as  a  hen  with  one  chicken, 
and  who  did  not  know  where  to  lay  their  heads, 
and  after  remaining  an  hour  playing  at  four 
eyes  with  Doctor  Azzecca-garDugli — mind 
you  don't  call  him  so — I  have  seen  them,  I  say, 
laugh  at  their  troubles.  Take  those  four  ca- 
pons, poor  things !  I  intended  to  have  wrung 
their  necks  for  the  feast  this  evening — and  car- 
ry them  to  him, — for  you  must  never  go  empty 
handed  to  gentry  of  that  kind ;  tell  him  what 
has  happened,  and  you  will  see  that  he  will 
tell  you  on  his  two  feet,  things  that  would  not 
come  into  our  heads  if  we  were  to  think  of  it 
for  twelvemonths. 

Renzo  very  willingly  embraced  this  advice. 
Lucia  approved  it,  and  Agnes  proud  of  having 
given  it,  dragged  one  by  one  trie  poor  animals 
out,  put  their  eight  legs  together  as  if  she  was 
making  a  bunch  of  flowers,  twisted  and  tied 
them  with  a  piece  of  string,  and  put  them  into 
Renzo's  hands ;  who,  having  given  and  received 
words  of  comfort,  went  out  by  a  little  garden 
door,  whence  the  boys  could  not  see  him, 


Strike-trouble. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


17 


and  who  would  have  run  after  him,  crying 
out, "  the  bridegroom,  the  bridegroom."  Thus 
crossing  the  fields,  or  as  they  say  there,  the 
places,*  he  went  by  the  paths,  fretting,  think- 
ing of  his  misfortune,  and  ruminating  over 
what  he  should  say  to  Doctor  Azzecca-gar- 
bugli.  I  leave  the  reader  to  imagine  what 
sort  of  a  journey  the  poor  capons  must  have 
had,  tied  in  a  bunch,  held  by  the  heels,  and 
their  heads  dangling  down,  in  the  hand  of  a 
man  agitated  by  so  many  passions ;  the  thoughts 
which  tumultuously  passed  through  his  mind 
he  accompanied  with  gestures,  and  at  certain 
moments  of  anger,  resolution,  or  despair,  ex- 
tending out  his  arm  with  great  force,  he  gave 
them  such  terrible  jerks,  and  made  their  sus- 
pended noddles  dance  about  so,  that  they  had 
no  comfort  but  what  they  found  in  pecking  at 
one  another,  a  thing  that  often  happens  to 
companions  in  misfortune. 

Arrived  at  Lecco,  he  inquired  for  the  resi- 
dence of  the  doctor,  and  being  informed,  he 
went  there.  At  his  entrance  he  felt  himself 
assailed  by  that  timidity  which  poor  illiterate 
people  experience,  when  about  to  approach 
the  gentry  and  the  learned.  He  forgot  all  the 
arguments  he  had  prepared,  but  giving  a  look 
at  his  capons,  he  ielt  encouraged.  Entering 
the  kitchen,  he  inquired  of  the  kitchen  wench 
if  he  could  speak  with  the  doctor.  At  the 
sight  of  the  capons,  the  girl,  like  one  accus- 
tomed to  see  such  presents  brought,  wanted 
to  take  them,  but  Renzo  kept  drawing  back, 
for  he  wished  the  doctor  to  see  and  to  know 
that  he  had  brought  something  with  him. — 
The  doctor  himself  happened  to  come  in,  just 
as  the  wench  was  saying  "  Give  them  to  me," 
and  passed  on  to  the  study.  Renzo  made  the 
doctor  a  bow,  who  received  him  graciously 
with  "  Come,  my  son,"  aVid  took  him  to  the 
study.  This  was  a  large  room,  with  three  of 
its  walls  covered  with  pictures  of  the  twelve 
Cesars,  and  the  fourth  filled  with  shelves  of 
old  and  dusty  books  :  in  the  centre,  was  a  table 
loaded  with  law  papers,  allegations,  supplica- 
tions, libels,  and  proclamations,  with  three  or 
four  seats  around  it ;  and  on  one  of  the  sides 
was  a  huge  arm  chair,  with  a  high  and  square 
back,  terminated  at  the  corners  by  two  orna- 
ments of  wood,  standing  up  something  like 
horns,  with  large  bosses,  and  covered  with 
leather.  Some  of  these  from  age  were  broken 
and  had  fallen  off,  leaving  the  edges  of  their 
covering,  sticking  and  curling  out  here  and 
there.  The  doctor  himself  had  his  chamber 
gown  on,  that  is,  he  was  covered  with  a  black 
and  blue  sort  of  Toga,  which  in  old  times  had 
served  him  to  perorate  in  upon  grand  occa- 
sions, when  he  went  to  Milan  to  conduct  some 
great  cause.  He  shut  the  door,  and  encourged 
the  youth  with  these  words  "  Well,  my  son, 
what  is  your  case  ?"  "  I  want  to  say  something 
to  you  in  confidence." 

"  Here  I  am,"  replied  the  doctor,  "  speak ;" 
and  he  seated  himself  in  his  arm  chair.  Ren- 


I  luogbi. 


zo,  standing  straight  up  at  the  table,  and 
twirling  round  with  his  right  hand,  his  hat 
which  was  on  his  left,  began,  "  I  wish  to 
know  from  your  worship,  who  has  studied — " 

"  Tell  me  the  fact,  just  as  it  is,"  the  doctor 
interrupted. 

"  Your  worship  must  excuse  me,  signor, 
doctor ;  we  poor  people  don't  understand  how 
to  talk  well.  I  want  to  know,  then " 

"  What  a  blessed  set !  You  are  all  so — in- 
stead of  telling  your  case,  you  begin  by  inter- 
rogations, because  you  have  got  your  own 
plans  already  in  your  heads." 

"  Excuse  me,  signor  doctor,  I  want  to 
know  if  when  any  one  threatens  a  curate  to 
prevent  his  performing  a  marriage,  whether 
there  is  any  penalty."  Ho,  ho  !  I  comprehend 
(said  the  doctor  to  himself,  though  in  truth 
he  had  not  yet  comprehended)  I  comprehend, 
and  then  assuming  a  serious  air,  but  a  serious- 
ness blended  with  compassion  and  eagerness, 
he  compressed  his  lips  together  strongly,  and 
gave  out  inarticulate  sounds  expressive  of  his 
Feelings,  but  which  he  more  clearly  explained 
by  soon  saying  "  A  serious  case,  my  son,  a 
case  already  contemplated.  You  have  done 
well  to  come  to  me.  It  is  a  clear  case,  pro- 
vided for  in  a  hundred  public  decrees,  and — 
see  here,  in  a  decree  of  last  year,  of  our  pre- 
sent governor.  I'll  show  it  to  you  this  mo- 
ment, you  shall  see  it  and  have  it  in  your 
hand." 

Thus  saying,  he  rose  from  his  arm  chair, 
and  thrusting  his  hand  into  the  chaos  of  papers 
before  him,  he  tumbled  and  threw  them  about 
from  top  to  bottom,  as  if  he  was  throwing  corn 
into  a  half  bushel. 

"  Where  the  deuce — Lets  see  here,  let's 
see  here.  Always  so  many,  many  things  on 
my  hands !  but  it  must  be  here,  certainly,  a 
decree  of  such  importance.  Ah !  here,  here." 
He  took  it,  looked  at  the  date,  and  putting  on 
a  still  more  serious  air,  exclaimed  the  15th  of 
October,  1627 !  Surely,  it  is  last  year,  one 
of  the  new  decrees,  people  are  more  frighten- 
ed at  them  than  at  the  others.  Can  you  read, 
my  son." 

"  A  little,  signor  doctor." 

"  Well,  then,  follow  me  with  your  eye,  and 
you  will  see."  And  holding  out  the  docu- 
ment at  its  full  length,  he  began  to  read,  ra- 
pidly muttering  over  some  passages,  and  dis- 
tinctly and  with  great  expression  enunciating 
others,  according  to  their  importance.  " '  As, 
by  the  proclamation  published  by  order  of  the 
Duke  of  Feria  the  14th  December,  1620,  and 
confirmed  by  the  most  illustrious  and  most 
excellent  signor,  the  Siguor  Gonzalo  Fernan- 
dez di  Cordova,'  et  cetera,  '  extraordinary 
and  rigorous  remedies  were  provided  against 
the  oppressions,  exactions,  and  tyrannical  acts 
which  by  the  audacity  of  some  persons,  are 
committed  against  the  devoted  vassals  of  his 
majesty ;  in  every  manner  the  frequency  and 
the  maliciousness  of  the  excesses,'  et  cetera, 
'  have  increased  to  such  a  degree,  that  his  ex- 
cellency feels  himself  under  the  necessity,' 


IS 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


et  cetera.  '  For  which  reasons,  with  the  con- 
currence of  the  senate  and  of  the  council,' 
et  cetera,  '  it  has  been  resolved  to  publish  the 
present  decree.' 

'  And  beginning  by  the  tyrannical  acts,  ex- 
perience having  snown  that  many,  as  well  in 
the  cities  as  in  the  country  towns,'  do  you 
hear  ?  '  of  this  state,  exercise  in  a  tyrannical 
way,  exactions,  and  oppress  the  weak  in  va- 
rious modes,  forcing  them  with  violence,  to 
enter  into  various  contracts  for  purchases, 
leases,'  et  cetera.  Why,  where  are  you  ?  there, 
there,  listen  !  forcing  them  to  enter  upon,  or 
to  break  off  marriages,  eh !" 

"That  is  my  case,"  said  Renzo. 

"  Hear,  hear,  there  is  still  more,  and  then 
we  will  see  the  penalty. — '  Shall  give  evidence, 

the 
s 

may  go  to  his  mill.'  All  this  has  nothing  to  do 
with  our  affair.  Ah,  here  we  are — '  that  priest 
not  doing  what  by  his  office  he  is  obliged  to 
do,  or  doing  things  it  is  not  his  duty  to  do.' 
Eh  ?" 

"  It  seems  as  if  this  decree  was  made  ex- 


pressly for  my  case." 
"Eh?  isitn 


it  not  so  ?  Hear,  hear,  '  and  other 
similar  violences,  practiced  by  feudatories, 
noblemen,  persons  of  the  middling  classes,  low 
men,  and  plebeians.'  None  of  mem  are  left 
out,  there  they  all  are,  as  if  it  was  the  valley 
of  Jehoshaphat.  Now  listen  to  the  penalty. 
'  All  these,  and  other  similar  evil  actions,  al- 
though already  prohibited,  nevertheless,  it  be- 
ing necessary  to  apply  greater  rigor,  His  Ex- 
cellency, by  the  present,  not  derogating,' — et 
cetera ;  '  orders  and  commands,  that  against  all 
offenders  of  every  condition,  in  the  above  mat- 
ters, or  any  similar  matter,  proceedings  be  in- 
stituted by  all  the  ordinary  magistrates  of  the 
state,  and  that  they  be  punished  by  pecuniary 
fines,  corporal  punishment,  banishment  to  the 
galleys,  and  even  by  death  itself.'  A  trifle  to 
be  sure  !  '  At  the  pleasure  of  His  Excellency, 
or  of  the  senate,  according  to  the  nature  of 
the  case,  the  persons,  and  the  circumstances. 
And  this  ir-re-miss-ibly  and  with  every  rigor,' 
et  cetera.  There  is  some  stuff  in  this ;  eh  ? 
See  here  the  signatures,  '  Gonzalo  Fernandez 
de  Cordova,'  and  lower  down,  'Platonus,' 
and  here  again,  '  Vidit  Ferrer ;'  there  is  nothing 
wanting." 

Whilst  the  doctor  was  reading,  Renzo  fol- 
lowed him  slowly  with  his  eyes,  endeavoring 
to  find  out  the  true  construction,  and  to  see 
those  blessed  words  that  were  to  be  his  aid  and 
refuge.  The  doctor  perceiving  his  new  client 
was  more  attentive  tnan  frightened,  was  sur- 
prised. Has  this  chap  been  matriculated  ?  said 
he  to  himself.  "  Ah,  ah,  yntw've  had  your  tuft 
shaved  off,  have  you  ?  You've  done  prudent- 
ly, but  there  is  no  occasion  for  that  when  you 
put  yourself  into  my  hands.  The  case  is  a  se- 
rious one,  but  you  don't  know  what  I  am  ca- 
pable of  doing  upon  an  emergency." 

To  understand  better  this  blunder  of  the  doc- 


tor's, it  is  necessary  to  know  that  in  those 
times  the  Bravos  by  trade,  and  the  infamous 
of  every  kind,  used  to  wear  a  long  tuft  of  hair, 
which  they  could  draw  over  their  faces  like  a 
visor,  when  they  were  assaulting  any  one,  that 
is,  in  enterprizes  requiring  caution  as  well  as 
strength,  where  some  disguise  was  necessary. 
The  decrees  are  not  silent  upon  this  custom. 
"  His  Excellency  commands  (the  Marquis  of 
Hinojosa,)  that  whoever  wears  his  hair  of  such 
a  length  that  it  shall  cover  his  forehead,  in- 
cluding his  eye-brows,  or  shall  wear  it  in  locks 
either  oefore  or  behind  his  ears,  shall  incur  a 
fine  of  three  hundred  crowns;  and  if  he  is  un- 
able to  pay  the  fine,  shall  be  sent  to  the  gal- 
leys for  three  years,  for  the  first  offence,  and 
for  the  second,  a  still  greater  fine,  both  pecu- 
niary and  corporal,  at  the  pleasure  of  His  Ex- 
cellency." 

"  It  is  permitted  nevertheless,  that  those 
who  are  bald,  or  who  have  any  scars  or  marks 
on  their  heads,  or  other  reasonable  cause,  may 
for  appearance's  sake,  or  on  account  of  their 
health,  wear  their  hair  of  such  a  length,  as  may 
be  necessary  to  conceal  such  defects,  and  for 
nothing  more  ;  warning  them,  however,  not  to 
exceed  what  the  necessity  of  the  case  may  ex- 
act, lest  they  incur  the  punishment  intended 
for  the  specified  offenders." 

"  And  in  like  manner,  all  barbers,  under  the 
penalty  of  a  hundred  crowns,  or  of  three  turns 
of  the  rack,  to  be  given  to  them  in  public,  and 
even  greater  corporal  punishment,  at  pleasure, 
as  above  ;  are  commanded  not  to  leave  upon 
any  whom  they  dress,  shave  or  cut,  locks, 
tufts,  crests,  or  hair  longer  than  usual,  as  well 
in  front,  as  on  the  sides,  and  behind  the  ears ; 
but  that  all  be  left  even,  as  on  the  top,  except 
in  cases  of  baldness,  or  defects  alluded  to." 
The  tuft  then  was  almost  a  characteristic  part 
of  the  armor  of  the  bullies  and  hang-gallows' 
of  the  day,  and  from  it  they  got,  commonly  to 
be  called  ciuffi.*  This  term  has  remained, 
and  is  still  in  use  in  the  dialect,  in  a  more 
mitigated  sense  ;  and  perhaps  there  is  not  pne 
of  our  Milanese  readers  who  does  not  remem- 
ber when  he  was  a  child,  to  have  heard  his  fa- 
ther, or  his  master,  or  a  servant,  or  some  friend 
of  the  house,  say,  there  goes  a  ciuffo,  or  tuft 
boy,  there  goes  a  ciuffetto  ! 

"  Truly,  on  the  word  of  a  poor  young  fel- 
low," answered  Renzo,  "  I  have  never  worn  a 
tuft  in  the  course  of  my  life." 

"  We  shall  make  nothing  of  it,"  replied  the 
doctor,  shaking  his  head,  with  a  smile  of  ma- 
licious impatience,  "  if  you  don't  trust  me,  we 
shall  make  nothing  of  it.  Look  ye,  my  son, 
he  who  tells  lies  to  the  doctor,  is  a  fool  that 
will  tell  the  truth  to  the  judge.  The  lawyer 
must  be  told  things  as  clear  as  the  day ;  his 
business  is  afterwards  to  muddle  them  as  dark 
as  night.  If  you  want  me  to  aid  you,  you  must 
begin  with  A,  and  go  on  to  Z,  w'ith  your  heart 
in  your  hand,  as  you  would  to  your  confessor. 
You  should  tell  me  the  name  of  the  person  who 

*  Tuft  boys. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


employed  you  to  threaten  the  curate,  no  doubt 
he  is  a  person  of  some  consequence ;  and  in 
that  case  I  should  go  to  see  him  as  an  act  of 
duty.    I  should  not  tell  him,  look  you,  that  7 
know  from  you,  that  he  sent  you  to  the  cu 
rate,  you  may  trust  me.    I  shall  tell  him,  that 
I  come  to  implore  his  protection  for  a  poor  ca- 
lumniated youth.    And  with  him  I  shall  take 
proper  measures  to  finish  the  affair  in  a  suita- 
ble manner.    Understand  well,  that  in  saving 
himself,  he  would  save  you.    And  if  the  affair 
is  entirely  your  own,  I  shall  not  flinch — I 
have  got  others  out  of  worse  scrapes — provid- 
ed always  you  have  not  offended  any  person  of 
consequence — let  us  understand  each  other — I 
engage  to  bring  you  out  of  this  difficulty — 
with  some  little  expense — let  us  understand 
each  other.    You  should  tell  me  who  is  the  of- 
fended person,  as  they  say ;  and  next  the  con- 
dition, the  quality,  and  the  temper  of  your 
friend  ;  we  shall  then  see  whether  it  will  be 
better  to  try  to  keep  him  right  as  to  the  mat- 
ter of  protection,  or  to  serve  him  with  some 
criminal  process,  and  stick  a  flea  in  his  ear : 
for,  d'ye  see,  when  these  decrees  are  rightly 
managed,  no  one  is  guilty,  no  one  is  innocent. 
As  to  the  curate,  if  he  is  a  man  of  judgment, 
he  will  keep  quiet,  and  if  he  is  rash  enough 
not  to  do  so,  we  have  remedies  for  that  too. 
All  sorts  of  difficulties  have  their  doors  to  get 
out  of,  but  it  requires  a  man  to  find  them ! 
Your  case  is  a  serious  one,  I  tell  you,  a  seri- 
ous one,  a  serious  one  indeed ;  the  proclama- 
tion does  not  mince  matters,  and  if  the  matter 
is  to  be  decided  between  you  and  justice,  with 
nothing  but  four  eyes,  you  are  in  for  it.   I  talk 
to  you  as  a  friend,  all  these  pranks  must  be 
paid  for — if  you  mean  to  get  free  of  this  in  a 
smooth  way,  money  and  sincerity,  confidence 
in  those  who  wish  you  well,  obedience,  and 
submitting  to  do  every  thing  that  may  be  sug- 
gested to  you." 

Whilst  the  doctor  was  pouring;  out  all  this 
strange  matter,  Renzo  stood  looking  at  him 
with  that  kind  of  estatic  attention  which  a 
clown,  in  the  public  square,  gives  to  the  jug- 

fler,  who,  cramming  his  mouth  with  tow, 
eeps  drawing  ribbons  out,  that  never  end. 
When,  however,  he  had  well  comprehended 
what  the  doctor  meant,  and  the  mistake  he 
had  fallen  into,  he  cut  the  ribbon  short,  that 
was  coming  out  of  his  mouth,  with  these 
words,  "  On,  doctor !  why,  how  you  have 
mistaken  it  ?  The  case  is  just  the  other  way. 
I  have  threatened  no  one — I  dont't  follow  such 
employments ;  ask  every  one  in  my  parish, 
and  they  will  tell  you  I  nave  never  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  the  law.  The  villany  has 
been  done  to  me,  and  I  am  come  to  you  to 
know  how  I  am  to  obtain  justice  ;  right  glad 
I  am  to  have  seen  that  decree." 

"  The  devil !"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  open- 
ing his  eyes  quite  wide.  "  Why,  what  a 
hodge-podge  you  have  made  of  it !  So  it  is ; 
are  you  all  alike  ?  is  it  possible  you  can't  relate 
things  clearly?" 
"But,  signer  doctor,  excuse  me — you  did 


not  give  me  time  to  do  so ;  now  I'D  tell  you  the 
thing,  how  it  really  is.  Know  then,  that  I  was 
to  have  been  married  to-day,"  and  here  Ren- 
zo's  voice  faltered — "  I  was  to  have  been  mar- 
ried to-day  to  a  young  woman,  to  whom  I  was 
engaged  ever  since  the  summer ;  and  to-day, 
as  I  tell  you,  was  the  day  fixed  with  the  curate, 
and  every  thing  was  prepared.  Well,  then, 
the  curate  begins  to  make  I  don't  know  what 
excuses ;  well,  not  to  be  tedious,  I  made  him 
confess,  as  was  just;  and  he  told  me  he  was 
prohibited,  under  pain  of  his  life,  from  mar- 
rying us.  That  powerful,  overbearing  Don 

Rodrigo " 

"  Hoy,  hoy!"  interrupted  the  doctor  imme- 
diately, frowning  with  his  eye-brows,  drawing 
his  red  nose  up  into  wrinkles,  and  twisting  hi* 
mouth,  "  hoy,  hoy,  why  do  you  come  here  to 
trouble  and  plague  me  with  these  idle  stories  ? 
Talk  amongst  yourselves  about  such  things  ; 
you  don't  know  how  to  deal  out  your  words  ; 
and  don't  come  here  to  spend  them  with  an 
honest  man,  who  knows  what  his  own  are 
worth  to  him.  Be  off,  be  off;  you  don't  know 
what  you  are  talking  about ;  I've  nothing  to 
do  with  boy's  affairs ;  I  can  listen  to  nothing 
of  the  kind — words  in  air,  words  in  air." 

"  I  swear " 

"  Go,  go,  I  tell  you,  what  have  I  to  do  with 
your  swearing  ?  I  am  not  concerned  in  it ;  I 
wash  my  hands  of  it;"  and  he  began  to  rub 
them,  and  turn  them  one  over  the  other,  as  if 
lie  were  really  washing  them.  "  Learn  how 
to  speak ;  this  is  not  the  way  to  come  and  sur- 
prise a  respectable  man." 

"  But  hear  me,  hear  me,"  in  vain  cried  out 
Renzo ;  the  doctor  always  bawling  out,  and 
Dushing  him  with  his  hands  towards  the  door. 
Vo  sooner  had  he  got  him  out,  than  he  opened 
t  again,  and  called  out  to  the  wench,  "  give 
Jiat  man  back  again,  directly,  what  he  brought ; 
[  won't  have  any  thing—I  won't  have  any 
Wng."  The  woman,  who  during  the  whole 
ime  she  had  been  in  the  house,  had  never  ex- 
ecuted an  order  of  that  kind,  hearing  it  issued 
in  such  a  peremptory  tone,  did  not  hesitate  to 
obey.  She  took  the  four  poor  birds,  and  gave 
them  to  Renzo,  with  a  look  of  scornful  com 
passion,  that  seemed  to  say,  "  you  must  have 
made  a  prodigious  blunder,  to  be  sure."  Ren- 
zo wanted  to  renew  their  understanding,  but 
the  doctor  was  inflexible  ;  and  astonished,  and 
but  half  awake,  and  more  irritated  than  ever, 
he  was  obliged  to  receive  back  the  rejected 
victims,  and  to  depart,  bending  his  steps  to 
the  village,  to  communicate  to  the  females  the 
result  01  his  expedition. 

These,  after  his  departure,  had  sorrowfully 
changed  the  nuptial  dresses  into  their  accus- 
tomed daily  and  homely  garments,  and  began 
again  to  consult  upon  their  affairs;  Lucia 
sobbing,  and  Agnes  sighing.  When  this  last 
had  expatiated  upon  the  great  effects  which 
might  be  expected  from  the  counsels  of  the 
doctor,  Lucia  said,  that  it  would  be  well  to 
try  and  help  themselves  in  every  possible  way" ; 
that  father  Christopher  was  a  man  not  only  to 


20 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


give  advice,  but  to  lend  his  assistance,  when 
poor  people  were  to  be  protected  ;  and  that  it 
would  be  a  famous  good  thing  to  make  him 
acquainted  with  what  had  happened.  "  You 
are  right,"  said  Agnes,  and  they  began  to  con- 
sider now  it  could  be  done,  for  as  to  their  go- 
ing to  the  convent,  which  was  at  least  two 
nines  off,  that  was  not  an  undertaking  for 
them  to  risk  that  day,  and  certainly  no  discreet 
person  would  have  advised  them  to  it.  But 
whilst  they  were  hesitating  about  it,  they 
heard  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  at  the  same 
moment,  a  low  but  distinct  Deogratias.  Lu- 
cia, wondering  who  it  could  be,  ran  to  open 
the  door,  and  making  his  bow,  in  came  a  se- 
cular perquisitor  Capuchin  friar,  with  his  wal- 
let depending  from  his  left  shoulder,  and  hold-  j 
ing  the  mouth  tightly  twisted  in  both  his 
hands  on  his  breast.  "  Oh,  Fra  Galdino !"  said 
the  two  women.  "  The  Lord  be  with  you," 
said  the  friar,  "  I  am  come  for  your  part  of 
the  perquisition  of  nuts." 

"  Go  and  get  the  nuts  for  the  fathers,"  said 
Agnes.  Lucia  rose,  and  went  to  another  room, 
but  before  she  entered,  she  stood  up  behind 
Fra  Galdino's  shoulders,  who  remained  in  the 
same  place,  and  putting  her  forefinger  on  her 
mouth,  she  gave  a  sign  to  her  mother  to  keep 
the  secret,  in  a  tender,  and  supplicating,  bat 
also  in  an  authoritative  way. 

The  penjuisitor,  leering  at  Agnes  from  a 
distance,  said,  "  and  this  marriage  ?  it  was  to 
have  taken  place  to-day.  I  have  found  a  sort 
of  confusion  in  the  village,  as  if  there  was  some 
novelty  going  on.  What  has  happened  ?" 
"  The  curate  is  sick,  and  we  are  obliged  to 

Eut  it  off,"  she  answered  in  haste.  If  Lucia 
ad  not  warned  her,  the  answer  would  proba- 
bly have  been  different.  "  And  how  does  the 
)  erquisition  go  on  ?"  said  she,  to  change  the 
conversation. 

"  Not  very  well,  good  woman,  not  very  well. 
They  are  all  here  ;"  and  saying  this,  he  took 
the  wallet  from  his  shoulders,  and  danced  it 
up  between  his  hands — "  they  are  all  here  ; 
and  to  collect  this  prodigious  abundance,  I 
have  had  to  knock  at  ten  doors." 

"Ay,  it  is  a  scarce  year,  Fra  Galdino;  and 
when  one  has  to  contend  for  bread,  all  mea- 
sures are  small." 

"  And  to  bring  good  times  back,  what  reme- 
dy is  there,  good  woman  ?  Alms !  Do  you 
know  about  that  miracle  of  the  walnuts,  that 
took  place  a  great  many  years  ago,  in  that 
convent  of  oure  in  Romagna  ?" 

"  No,  indeed ;  tell  it  to  me  directly." 

"  Oh  !  you  must  know  then,  that  in  that 
convent,  there  was  a  father  of  our  order,  who 
was  a  saint,  and  his  name  was  father  Macario. 
One  winter's  day,  walking  in  a  path  in  a  field 
of  a  benefactor  of  ours,  a  very  excellent  man 
also,  father  Macario  saw  our  benefactor  stand- 
ing near  a  great  walnut  tree  belonging  to  him, 
and  four  countrymen,  with  their  pickaxes 
lifted  up,  and  digging  away,  to  uncover  the 
tree,  and  lay  bare  the  roots.  '  What  are  you 
doing  to  that  poor  tree  ? '  asked  father  Macario. 


'  Why,  father,  for  some  years  past  it  has  borne 
no  walnuts,  and  I  am  going  to  make  firewood 
of  it.'  '  Don't  do  so ;  leave  it  alone,'  said  the 
father ;  '  know  that  this  year  it  shall  bear  more 
nuts  than  leaves.'  The  benefactor,  who  knew 
who  the  man  was  that  said  this,  immediately 
ordered  the  laboring  men  to  cover  up  the  roots 
again  with  the  earth  ;  and,  calling  to  the  fa- 
ther, who  continued  his  walk,  'father  Ma- 
cario,'said  he,  '  one  half  of  the  crop  shall  be 
kept  for  the  convent.'  The  report  of  the  pre- 
diction went  abroad,  and  every  body  went  to 
look  at  the  walnut  tree.  In  fact,  when  spring 
came,  it  blossomed  prodigiously,  and  then 
nuts,  and  nuts  without  end.  The  good  bene- 
factor had  not  the  consolation  to  have  the 
shaking  of  them  down,  because,  before  the 
harvest,  he  was  taken  away  to  receive  the  re- 
ward of  his  charity.  But  the  miracle  was  the 
more  astonishing  for  that  very  reason,  as  you 
shall  hear.  That  excellent  man  left  behind 
him  a  son  of  very  different  character.  At  har- 
vest time  then,  the  perquisitor  went  to  receive 
the  half  that  belonged  to  the  convent ;  but  he 
pretended  to  know  nothing  about  it,  and  had 
the  impudence  to  reply  uiat  he  had  never 
heard  the  Capuchins  knew  how  to  make  wal- 
nuts. Now  what  do  you  think  happened  ?  One 
day,  (listen  to  this)  the  hang-gallows  had  in- 
vited some  friends  of  the  same  kidney,  and 
whilst  they  were  making  merry,  he  told  them 
this  story  about  the  walnuts,  and  made  game 
of  the  friars ;  and,  as  the  young  dogs  wanted 
to  see  such  an  interminable  heap  of  nuts,  he 
took  them  to  the  granary.  And  what  do  you 
think  ?  he  opens  the  door,  goes  to  the  corner 
where  this  monstrous  heap  was  laid,  and  whilst 
he  was  saying — look  there — he  looked  him- 
self, and  saw — what  ?  a  fine  heap  of  dry  wal- 
nut leaves  !  What  do  you  think  of  that  for  a 
miracle,  eh  ?  and  the  convent,  instead  of  be- 
ing a  loser  by  this  refused  alms,  was  a  gainer; 
because,  after  such  a  surprising  fact,  the  per- 
quisition for  nuts  produced  such  prodigious 
quantities,  that  a  benefactor,  moved  with  com- 
passion for  the  poor  perquisitor,  had  the  cha- 
rity to  present  the  convent  with  an  ass,  to 
assist  him  to  carry  the  nuts  home.  And  there 
was  so  much  oil  made,  that  the  poor  came  and 
received  as  much  as  they  wanted  ;  for  we  arc 
like  the  sea,  which  receives  water  from  all 
quarters,  and  distributes  it  back  again  to  all 
the  rivers. 

Here  Lucia  came  back  with  her  apron  so  fill- 
ed with  walnuts,  that  she  could  scarce  carry 
them,  holding  the  two  ends  up  with  her  arms 
quite  stretched  out.  Whilst  Fra  Galdino,  ta- 
king his  wallet  from  his  neck,  put  it  on  the 
ground  and  opened  the  mouth  to  introduce  in- 
to it  this  abundant  alms,  the  mother  gave  an 
astonished  and  severe  look  at  .Lucia  on  ac- 
count of  her  prodigality ;  but  Lucia  gave  her 
another,  which  meant — I'll  explain  to  you 
why.  Fra  Galdino  broke  out  into  eulogiums, 
auguries,  promises,  and  many  thanks,  and 
having  replaced  his  wallet,  was  going  away. 
But  Lucia  stayed  him  to  say,  "  I  want  you  to 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


21 


do  me  a  service,  it  is  to  tell  father  Christopher 
that  I  desire  to  speak  to  him  very  much,  and 
that  I  entreat  him  to  have  the  charity  to  come 
to  us  poor  people,  immediately — as  soon  as  he 
can,  for  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  come  to  the 
church  myself." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  An  hour  shan't  pass  over  be- 
fore father  Christopher  shall  be  made  acquaint- 
ed with  your  wishes." 

"I  rely  upon  youJ" 

"Don't  doubt  it  at  all;"  and  having  said 
this,  he  took  his  departure,  more  crooked  and 
more  content  than  when  he  came. 

Now  no  one  must  think  that  because  we 
find  a  poor  young  girl  sending  for  father  Chris- 
topher with  so  much  confidence,  and  a  per- 
quisitor  accepting  the  commission  without 
witnessing  any  surprise,  or  without  any  diffi- 
culty, that  the  said  Christopher  was  one  of 
those  friars  as  they  are  by  the  dozen,  a  thing 
to  be  despised.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  a  man 
of  much  authority  amongst  his  brethren,  and 
in  the  neighborhood  ;  but  such  was  the  condi- 
tion of  the  capuchins,  that  nothing  to  them  ap- 
peared too  low,  or  too  high.  To  be  of  service 
to  the  vilest,  and  to  be  served  by  the  most 
powerful,  to  enter  into  palaces  and  into  cabins 
with  the  same  air  of  humility  and  security,  to 
be  at  times  in  the  same  house,  the  subject  of 
pastime,  and  a  personage  without  whom  no- 
thing could  be  decided,  to  seek  alms  every 
where,  and  distribute  them  to  every  body  who 
cams  to  the  convent,  a  capuchin  was  accus- 
tomed to  every  thing.  Whilst  journeying,  it 
might  occur  to  them  to  meet  a  prince  who 
reverently  would  kiss  the  end  ot  their  cor- 
don, or  with  a  pack  of  noisy  boys,  who  pre- 
tending to  be  at  variance  with  them,  would 
throw  dirt  upon  their  beards.  The  word  friar, 
in  those  times,  was  uttered  with  the  most  pro- 
found respect,  and  with  the  bitterest  contempt : 
and  the  capuchins,  perhaps  more  than  any 
other  order,  were  objects  of  the  two  opposing 
feelings,  and  experienced  the  two  opposite 
fortunes  ;  for  possessing  nothing, wearing  a  ha- 
bit more  singularly  differing  from  the  ordinary 
one,  making  a  more  open  profession  of  hu- 
mility, they  exposed  themselves  in  a  nearer 
degree  to  the  veneration  and  contempt,  that 
such  faculties  may  inspire,  from  the  different 
humors,  and  the  different  ways  of  thinking  of 
men. 

Fra  GaMino  being  gone,  "All  those  walnuts ! " 
exclaimed  Agnes, "  in  such  a  year  as  this." 

"  Pardon  me,  mamma,"  replied  Lucia,  "but 
if  we  had  given  alms  like  the  rest,  Fra  Galdi- 
no  would  nave  had  to  wander  about  heaven 
knows  how  long,  before  he  had  got  his  wallet 
full.  God  knows  when  he  would  have  got 
back  to  the  convent,  and  what  with  gossiping 
here,  and  listening  to  long  stories  there,  it  is  a 
chance  if  lie  would  have  remembered  a  word 
of " 

"  Right,  it  was  well  thought  of,  and  then  be- 
sides it  is  all  charity,  and  that  always  pro- 
duces good  fruit,"  said  Agnes,  who  with  her 
defects  was  a  good  woman,  and  would  have 


!  enaured  any  thing,  for  this  her  only  daughter, 
in  whom  she  had  placed  all  her  delight. 

Meantime  Renzo  arrived,  and  entering  with 
his  countenance  full  of  anger  and  shame  at  the 
same  time,  he  threw  the  capons  upon  a  table, 
and  this  was  the  last  of  the  turbulent  adven- 
tures of  the  poor  creatures  for  that  day. 

"  Fine  counsel  you  gave  me,"  said  he  to 
Agnes.  "  You  have  sent  me  to  a  very  respect- 
able man  indeed,  to  one  who  truly  likes  to  as- 
sist poor  people."  And  immediately  he  nar- 
rated to  her  his  conference  with  the  doctor. 
Stupefied  at  such  a  miserable  result,  she  want- 
ed to  make  out  nevertheless  that  the  advice 
was  good,  and  that  Renzo  must  have  failed  in 
!  doing  things  the  right  way  ;  but  Lucia  inter- 
|  rupted  the  dispute,  announcing  to  him  that 
j  she  hoped  she  had  found  better  aid.  Renzo 
embraced  this  hope,  as  they  always  do  who 
are  in  misfortune  and  difficulty.  "  But  if  the 
father,"  said  he,  "  finds  no  remedy,  I  will  find 
one  in  some  mode  or  another."  The  women 
advised  peace,  patience  and  prudence. 

"  Tomorrow,"  said  Lucia,  "  father  Christo- 
pher will  certainly  come ;  and  you  will  see  that 
he  will  find  out  some  expedient,  which  we  poor 
people  can't  imagine  to  ourselves." 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Renzo,  "but  in  any  event, 
I  shall  know  how  to  right  myself,  and  to  cause 
justice  to  be  done  to  me.  There  is  justice 
finally  for  this  world  !" 

With  these  sorrowful  colloquies,  and  with 
the  goings  and  returnings  we  have  noticed, 
the  day  passed  over,  and  was  now  sinking  in- 
to the  shades  of  evening. 

"  Good  night,"  said  Lucia  sorrowfully  to 
Renzo,  who  could  not  muster  resolution 
enough  to  depart. 

"  Good  night !"  he  replied,  still  more  affect- 
ed. 

"  Some  saint  will  assist  us,"  she  replied  ; 
"be  prudent,  and  be  resigned." 

The  mother  added  other  advice  of  the  same 
kind,  and  the  bridegroom  left  the  house  "with  a 
tempest  in  his  heart,  always  repeating  those 
strange  words,  "  there  is  justice  finally  for  this 
world !"  So  true  it  is,  that  a  man  overcome  by 
great  grief,  no  longer  knows  what  he  says. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  sun  had  not  yet  appeared  above  the 
horizon,  when  father  Christopher  left  his  con- 
vent of  Pescarenico,  to  go  up  to  the  cottage 
where  he  was  expected.  Pescarenico  is  a 
small  place  on  the  banks  of  the  Adda,  or  rather 
of  the  lake,  a  few  paces  below  the  bridge  ;  con- 
sisting of  a  group  of  houses,  inhabited  chiefly 
by  fishermen,  and  adorned  here  and  there  with 
all  sorts  of  nets  spread  out  to  dry.  The  con- 
vent was  situated  (and  the  building  yet  exists) 
out  of  the  village,  and  in  front  of  the  entrance 
to  it ;  the  road  which  leads  from  Lecco  to  Ber- 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


garao  being  between.  The  sky  was  serene. 
As  the  sun  gradually  arose  from  behind  the 
mountain,  his  beams  could  be  traced,  rapidly 
descending  from  the  summits  of  the  opposite 
heights,  and  spreading  themselves  below, 
amongst  the  declivities,  and  in  the  valley. 
An  autumnal  breeze,  detaching  the  withered 
leaves  from  the  boughs  of  the  mulberry,  waft- 
ed them  on  to  drop  a  few  paces  from  the  tree. 
In  the  vineyards  to  the  right  and  to  the  left, 
the  yet  extended  branches  presented  all  the 
brilhancy  of  a  foliage,  rich  in  diversified  tints 
and  hues ;  and  the  recently  worked  threshing 
floors,  appeared  brown  and  distinct,  amongst 
the  fields  of  pale-colored  stubble  glistening 
with  dew.  It  was  a  glad  scene,  and  the  human 
figure  alone,  wherever  it  was  seen  moving, 
tinctured  both  the  aspect  and  the  feeling,  with 
sadness.  At  every  step,  lean  and  ragged  beg- 
gars were  met,  grown  old  in  their  trade,  or 
compelled  by  necessity  to  extend  their  hands. 
They  passed  by  the  side  of  father  Christopher 
in  silence,  looking  him  pitifully  in  the  lace, 
and  although  they  had  nothing  to  hope  from 
him — since  capuchins  never  possess  money — 
they  made  him  a  reverence  of  gratitude  for 
the  alms  which  they  had  received,  and  which 
they  were  again  going  to  seek  at  the  convent. 
The  spectacle  of  the  laborers  dispersed  in  the 
fields  had  something,  I  know  not  what,  still 
more  painful  about  it.  Some  of  them  were 
casting  their  seeds,  thin,  sparingly,  and  with 
reluctance,  like  one  who  is  hazarding  some- 
thing very  valuable  :  others  were  unwillingly 
handling  their  shovels,  and  carelessly  throw- 
ing about  the  clods  with  them.  The  famished 
girl,  holding  the  lean  and  dried  up  cow  in  the 
pasture  by  a  cord,  looking  anxiously  round, 
and  stooping  down  in  haste  to  snatch  from  her, 
as  food  for  her  own  family,  some  herb,  which 
hunger  had  taught  her  would  aid  to  sustain 
life.  At  every  step  such  spectacles  increased 
the  sadness  of  the  friar,  who  pursued  his  road 
with  the  melancholy  presentiment  at  heart, 
that  he  was  going  to  be  made  acquainted  with 
some  new  disaster. 

But  why  was  he  so  solicitous  about  Lucia  ? 
And  why  at  the  first  notice  did  he  nut  himself 
so  anxiously  in  motion,  as  if  he  had  been  sum- 
moned by  an  order  of  the  provincial  father  ? 
And  who  was  this  father  Christopher  ?  We 
must  satisfy  all  these  inquiries. 

Father  Christopher  was  a  man  nearer  to 
sixty  than  fifty  years  old.  His  shaved  head, 
with  the  exception  of  a  small  band  of  hair,  that 
cinctured  it  midway  in  the  form  of  a  crown, 
according  to  the  custom  of  the  capuchins, 
was  lifted  up  from  time  to  time  with  a  move- 
ment that  disclosed  something  of  a  lofty  and 
unquiet  feeling,  although  soon  sinking  down 
again  from  a  sense  of  humility.  The  grey  and 
long  beard  which  covered  his  cheeks  and  his 
chin,  threw  into  greater  relief  the  prominent 
features  of  the  upper  part  of  his  face,  to  which 
an  abstinence  of  long  habit,  had  communicat- 
ed infinitely  more  gravity  than  it  had  robbed 
of  expression.  Hia  two  sunken  eyes  were 


usually  cast  to  the  ground,  but  at  times  they 
lighted  up  with  a  sudden  vivacity,  like  two 
freakish  horses,  driven  by  a  coachman  they 
well  know  is  not  to  be  mastered,  but  now  and 
then  giving  a  few  capers  they  are  sure  to  pay 
for  by  a  strong  pull  at  the  bit. 

Father  Christopher  had  not  always  been  thus, 
and  indeed  he  had  not  always  been  Christo- 
pher, for  his  baptismal  name  was  Ludovico. 

He  was  the  son  of  a  tradesman  of ,  who 

towards  the  close  of  his  life,  finding  himself 
in  possession  of  a  good  fortune,  and  having 
only  one  son,  had  renounced  all  business,  and 
led  the  life  of  a  gentleman. 

In  this  new  indolence,  he  became  ashamed 
of  all  that  period  of  his  life  which  he  had  pass- 
ed in  any  of  the  occupations  of  the  world, 
and,  governed  by  this  feeling,  he  took  great 
pains  to  obliterate  every  resemblance  that  he 
had  been  engaged  in  trade.  He  would  fain  even 
have  forgotten  it  himself,  but  the  warehouse, 
the  bales,  the  ledger,  the  yardwand,  rose  before 
him,  like  the  ghost  of  Banquo  to  Macbeth,  even 
amidst  the  ostentation  of  the  feast,  and  the 
flattery  of  his  parasites.  Great  were  the  pains 
taken  by  those  miserable  creatures,  to  avoid 
every  allusion  that  could  possibly  have  any 
bearing  upon  the  former  condition  of  their 
host.  One  day,  just  to  relate  a  particular  in- 
stance, towards  the  end  of  the  dinner,  at  a 
moment  of  the  most  lively  and  free  merri- 
riment,  when  it  would  have  been  difficult  to 
decide  who  was  the  happiest,  those  who  des- 
patched the  good  things,  or  those  who  provid- 
ed them ;  the  host  was  encouraging,  with  a 
friendly  sort  of  authority,  one  of  the  guests, 
who  was  the  fairest  and  most  honest  gourmand 
imaginable.  This  person,  without  the  least 
malice  in  the  world,  and  with  the  frankness  of 
a  child,  to  help  along  the  joke,  answered  "  my 
ears  are  as  quick  as  a  shopkeepers."  He  was 
not  slow  at  perceiving  the  force  of  the  words 
he  had  uttered,  and  looked  doubtingly  at  his 
host,  whose  face  suddenly  became  dark ;  both 
of  them  tried  to  rally,  but  it  was  no  longer  in 
their  power.  Each  of  the  other  guests  began 
to  consider  how  he  might  mitigate  this  awk- 
ward blunder,  and  divert  attention  from  it,  but 
whilst  they  were  considering  they  were  silent, 
and  this  silence  made  the  scandal  stiil  more 
manifest.  Every  one  avoided  the  eyes  of  the 
rest,  and  was  sensible  that  all  were  occupied 
with  the  thought  they  all  were  desirous  of  con- 
cealing. The  mirtn  for  that  day  was  at  an 
end,  and  the  poor  imprudent,  or  to  speak  plain- 
er, unfortunate  fellow,  received  no  more  invi- 
tations. Thus  the  father  of  Ludovico  passed 
his  latter  years  in  perpetual  fidgets,  always 
dreading  to  be  scoffed  at,  not  reflecting  that  to 
I  sell  is  not  a  whit  more  ridiculous  than  to  buy, 
|  and  that  the  occupation  he  was  now  so  ashamed 
!  of,  he  had  followed  a  great  many  years,  in  the 
presence  of  the  public,  and  without  any  re- 
morse. He  caused  his  son  to  be  educated 
nobly,  after  the  manner  of  the  times,  and  to 
as  great  an  extent  as  the  laws  and  customs  pre- 
mitted  him.  He  gave  him  masters  in  polite 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


tetters,  and  in  equestrian  exercises,  and  when 
he  died,  left  him  rich  and  young. 

Ludovico  had  contracted  gentlemanly  hab- 
its, and  the  adulators  amongst  whom  he  had 
been  brought  up,  had  accustomed  him  to  be 
treated  with  great  respect.  But  when  he  at- 
tempted to  mingle  with  the  first  class  in  the 
city,  he  met  with  manners  very  different  from  | 
those  he  had  been  accustomed  to.  He  saw 
that  to  live  in  such  society,  as  he  wished  to  do, 
it  would  be  necessary  to  go  through  a  new 
school  of  patience  and  submission,  to  follow 
upon  all  occasions,  and  to  swallow  disagreea- 
ble things  at  every  instant.  This  mode  of 
life  neither  suited  the  education  nor  the  natu- 
ral temper  of  Ludovico.  He  withdrew  from 
this  class  piqued,  but  he  kept  aloof  against  his 
will,  because  it  appeared  to  him  that  his  pro- 
per companions  were  to  be  found  there,  if 
they  only  had  been  a  little  more  tractable. 
With  this  mixture  of  inclination  and  dislike, 
not  being  able  to  enjoy  their  familiar  society, 
and  desirous  still  of  being  something  in  com- 
mon with  them,  he  attempted  to  rival  them  in 
expense  and  magnificence,  thus  purchasing 
with  ready  money,  hatred,  envy,  and  ridicule. 
His  natural  temper  at  once  honest  and  violent, 
had  engaged  him  early  in  other  difficulties  of 
a  more  serious  kind.  He  felt  a  spontaneous 
and  sincere  detestation  to  every  kind  of  extor- 
tion and  injury ;  a  detestation  rendered  still 
more  keen  in  him,  by  the  practices  of  the  per- 
sons who  were  notorious  wrong  doers  at  the 
time,  and  who  were  exactly  the  persons  he 
had  taken  otfence  at.  To  appease,  or  rather 
to  employ  all  these  passions  at  once,  he  wil- 
lingly took  the  part  of  the  feeble  oppressed, 
and  stood  in  the  way  of  the  oppressor :  having 
got  into  one  quarrel,  he  soon  brought  ano- 
ther upon  his  back,  and  so  little  by  little  he 
became  an  avowed  protector  of  the  weak  and 
an  avenger  of  their  wrongs.  The  occupation 
was  a  burdensome  one,  and  it  was  not  neces- 
sary to  ask  if  the  poor  Ludovico  had  enemies, 
encounters,  and  matter  for  reflection.  Besides 
this  external  war,  he  was  continually  harras- 
sed  with  internal  contests ;  for  in  getting  up 
an  enterprise  (without  mentioning  those  where 
he  was  not  the  principal)  it  was  necessary 
himself  to  concert  many  means  by  intrigue 
and  violence,  which  his  conscience  could  not  j 
afterwards  approve  of.  He  was  obliged  to 
keep  about  him  a  good  number  of  the  worst 
kind  of  Bravos ;  and  as  much  for  his  own  se- 
curity, as  to  have  efficient  aid,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  select  the  most  desperate,  that  is  the 
greatest  scoundrels,  and  thus  live  amongst  vil- 
lains for  the  sake  of  justice.  So  much  so, 
that  more  than  once  either  discouraged  from 
bad  success,  or  disturbed  by  some  imminent 
danger,  annoyed  by  being  continually  on  his 
guard,  sickened  to  death  with  his  companions, 
and  thoughtful  for  the  future,  in  relation  to  his 
means,  which  were  daily  wasting  away  in 
good  works,  and  fine  undertakings,  it  more 
than  once  came  into  his  head  to  become  a  friar, 
a  not  uncommon  mode  in  those  days  of  getting 


out  of  great  scrapes.  But  this  notion,  which 
would  nave  existed  in  his  imagination,  per- 
haps, all  his  life,  became  a  determination,  by 
the  most  serious  and  terrible  accident  which 
had  ever  happened  to  him. 

He  was  walking  one  day  in  a  street  of  the 
town  where  he  lived,  accompanied  by  an  old 
foreman  of  the  shop,  whom  his  father  had 
transformed  into  a  major  dome,  and  with  two 
Bravos  in  his  train.  The  major  domo,  named 
Christopher,  was  a  man  about  fifty  years  old, 
devoted  from  his  youth  to  the  master  whose 
birth  he  had  witnessed,  and  through  whose 
liberality  he  lived  and  provided  for  a  wife  and 
eight  children.  Ludovico  saw  a  personage 
appear  at  a  distance,  who  was  an  arrogant  op- 
pressor by  profession ;  he  had  never  spoken 
with  him  in  the  course  of  his  life,  but  the  man 
was  his  bitter  enemy,  and  he  detested  him 
just  as  cordially.  It  is  a  great  advantage  we 
have  in  this  world,  to  be  able  to  hate  and  to  be 
hated,  without  being  acquainted  with  each 
other. 

This  personage,  followed  by  four  Bravos, 
advanced  erect,  with  a  superb  air,  his  head 
aloft,  and  his  lips  expressive  of  arrogance  and 
contempt.  Both  of  them  were  walking  close 
to  the  wall,  but  Ludovico  had  it  upon  his  right 
hand,  and  this,  according  (o  a  custom,  gave 
him  the  privilege  (where  no  one  ever  attempts 
to  interfere  with  the  right)  to  keep  the  wall, 
and  not  to  permit  any  one  whatever  to  pass 
between ;  and  upon  this  privilege  a  very  great 
value  was  set  in  those  times.  The  person 
who  was  now  meeting  him,  insisted  that  the 
right  belonged  to  him  as  a  nobleman,  and  that 
it  was  the  place  of  Ludovico  to  give  the  wall, 
in  conformity  to  another  custom.  Touching 
this  matter,  there  existed,  as  it  occurs  in  ma- 
ny other  things,  two  opposing  customs,  with- 
out its  having  been  decided  which  was  the 
most  proper,  so  that  a  fair  opportunity  for  a 
quarrel  offered  itself,  every  time  that  two  hot- 
heads clashed  together  in  this  way.  These 
two  were  now  drawing  close,  each  of  them 
getting  as  nigh  as  he  could  to  the  wall,  and 
looking  like  two  walking  figures  in  basso  re- 
lievo. When  they  were  face  to  face,  the 
other,  looking  at  Ludovico  with  a  lofty  air, 
and  an  imperious  frown,  said  to  him,  in  a  cor- 
responding tone  of  voice,  "  Move  away  from 
the  wall!" 

"  Move  away,  yourself,"  replied  Ludovico, 
"  the  wall  is  mine." 

"  With  men  of  your  class  the  wall  always  be- 
longs to  me." 

"  Yes,  if  the  arrogance  of  men  like  you  was 
a  law  for  my  equals." 

The  two  trains  remained  still,  each  behind 
their  chief,  scowiing  at  each  other  like  angry 
dogs,  with  their  hands  on  their  daggers,  pre- 
pared for  battle.  The  people  who  were  pass- 
ing in  the  street,  drew  back  to  observe  their 
proceedings,  and  the  presence  of  these  specta- 
tors sharpened  still  more  the  punctilious  feel- 
ing of  the  disputants. 

"  Make  way,  vile  mechanic,  or  I'll  teach 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


you  at  once  what  manners  you  ought  to  ob- 
serve to  gentlemen." 

"  You  lie,  when  you  call  me  vile." 

"  You  are  a  liar  for  telling  me  I  lie,  and  if 
you  were  a  cavalier  as  I  am,  added  he,  I 
would  show  you  with  the  sword  and  cape, 
that  you  are  the  liar." 

"An  excellent  pretext  to  excuse  yourself 
from  sustaining  by  facts  the  insolence  of  your 
words." 

"  Throw  this  scoundrel  into  the  mud,"  said 
the  cavalier,  turning  round  to  his  men. 

"  Let  us  see,  first,"  said  Ludovico,  quickly 
drawing  back,  and  carrying  his  hand  to  his 
sword. 

"  Insolent !  cried  out  the  other,  unsheathing 
his  own,  "  but  I  will  break  this,  when  it  has 
been  stained  with  such  blood  as  thine." 

Thus  they  rushed  upon  each  other,  the  ser- 
rants  on  both  sides  coming  to  the  defence  of 
their  masters.  The  combat  was  unequal,  both 
in  numbers,  and  because  Ludovico  sought  ra- 
ther to  avoid  the  thrusts  and  to  disarm  his 
enemy,  than  to  slay  him ;  but  nothing  but 
blood  would  satisfy  the  other.  Ludovico  had 
already  received  on  his  left  arm  a  stab  from 
one  pi  the  Bravos,  and  a  slight  scratch  on  one 
of  his  cheeks,  and  his  principal  antagonist,  the 
cavalier,  was  rushing  to  despatch  him,  when 
Christopher,  seeing  his  master  in  extreme 
danger,  drew  his  dagger  to  aid  him.  The 
cavalier  turning  all  his  rage  against  Christo- 
pher, ran  him  through  with  Ins  sword.  At 
this  sight,  Ludovico,  like  one  besides  himself, 
plunged  his  own  into  the  body  of  his  enemy, 
who  fell  to  the  ground,  dying  almost  at  the 
same  moment  with  poor  Christopher.  The 
Bravos  of  the  dying  man,  seeing  their  leader 
fall,  took  to  flight,  not  with  whole  skins ;  and 
those  of  Ludovico  too,  pretty  well  mauled  and 
cut,  not  finding  any  thing  more  to  do,  took  to 
their  heels,  unwilling  to  get  into  further  trou- 
bles from  the  people  who  were  running  to 
the  place.  Ludovico  thus  found  himself  alone, 
with  those  two  fatal  companions  at  his  feet,  in 
the  midst  of  a  crowd. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  There  is  one— there 
is  two  of  them  !  What  a  button  hole  he  has 
made  in  his  paunch !  Who  has  been  killed  ? 
That  proud  fellow,  there !  Oh,  holy  Maria, 
what  destruction  !  He  who  seeks  is  sure  to 
find — once  pays  for  all — and  so  he  is  done  for! 
What  a  blow  !  This  is  a  serious  piece  of  bu- 
siness. And  that  other  poor  fellow !  Mercy  ! 
what  a  spectacle  !  Save  him,  save  him,  he  is 
in  for  it  too, — See  how  they  have  used  him, 
how  he  is  bleeding!  Escape,  poor  follow, 
escape,  don't  let  yourself  be  taken." 

These  words,  which  rose  above  the  tumul- 
tuous din  made  by  the  crowd,  expressed  the 
common  voice,  and  with  counsel  aid  came 
hand  in  hand.  The  assault  had  happened 
near  a  church  of  the  capuchins,  an  asylum, 
as  every  one  knows,  impenetrable  then  to  the 
police,  and  all  that  complexity  of  things  and 
persons  which  went  under  the  name  of  justice. 
The  wounded  homicide  was  conducted,  or 


rather  carried  there  out  of  the  crowd,  almost 
insensible,  and  the  friars  received  him  from 
the  hands  of  the  people,  who  recommended 
him  to  them,  saying,  "  It  is  a  very  respectable 
man,  who  has  stittened  one  of  these  superb 
rascals ;  he  did  it  in  his  own  defence,  and  was 
dragged  into  the  business  by  the  hair  of  his 
head." 

Ludovico  had  never  before  spilt  blood,  and 
although  homicides  in  those  days  were  so 
common,  that  the  ears  of  every  one  were  ac- 
customed to  hear  of  them,  and  their  eyes  to 
witness  them,  still  the  impression  which  he 
received  from  beholding  the  corpse  of  the  man 
who  died  for  him,  and  that  of  the  man  who 
had  died  by  him,  was  new  and  inexpressible  ; 
it  produced  a  revelation  of  feeling  to  him 
hitherto  unknown.  The  falling  down  of  his 
enemy,  the  change  of  those  features,  which 
passed  in  a  moment  from  threatening  and  fury, 
to  the  submission  and  quiet  solemnity  of  death, 
was  a  spectacle  which  produced  a  complete 
change  in  the  mind  of  the  slayer.  Dragged,  as 
it  were,  to  the  convent,  he  scarcely  knew  where 
he  was,  or  what  he  was  doing,  and  when  mem- 
ory returned,  he  found  himself  in  one  of  the 
beds  of  the  convent  infirmary,  in  the  hands  of 
the  surgeon  friar,  (the  capuchins  usually  had 
one  in  every  convent)  who  was  applying  ban- 
dages and  lint  to  the  wounds  he  had  received 
in  the  encounter.  One  of  the  fathers,  whose 
particular  charge  it  was  to  attend  the  dying, 
and  who  had  frequently  rendered  services  of 
that  character  whilst  in  the  streets,  was  soon 
called  to  the  place  of  combat.  Returning  a 
few  minutes  afterwards,  he  entered  the  infir- 
mary, and  approaching  the  bed  where  Ludo- 
vico laid,  said  to  him,  "  At  least  he  died  well, 
and  desired  me  to  ask  your  pardon,  and  to 
carry  you  his  own."  These  words  brought 
Ludovico  completely  to  himself,  and  awakened 
in  him,  in  a  still  more  distinct  and  lively  man- 
ner, the  confused  and  troubled  feelings  of  his 
soul :  grief  for  his  friend,  dread  and  remorse 
for  the  fatal  blow  w  hich  had  escaped  him,  and 
at  the  same  time,  a  compassionate  anguish  for 
the  man  he  had  slain.  "And  the  other?"  he 
anxiously  inquired  of  the  friar. 

"  The  other  had  expired  before  I  arrived." 

In  the  mean  time  the  streets  leading  to  the 
convent,  and  the  neighborhood,  swarmed  with 
curious  people,  but  the  police  being  arrived, 
forced  the  crowd  to  retreat,  so  that  they  could 
establish  themselves  near  the  gates,  and  iMvt  too 
far  off  to  permit  any  one  to  leave  the  convent 
unobserved.  A  brother  of  the  deceased,  two  of 
his  cousins,  and  an  ancient  uncle,  also  came 
armed  from  head  to  foot,  with  a  great  retinue 
of  Bravos,  and  began  to  go  the  rounds,  watch- 
ing with  angry  looks  and  menacing  gestures 
the  idle  crowd,  who  had  written  on  their  faces, 
what  they  did  not  dare  to  say,  "  They  deserve 
what  they  have  got." 

Scarce  had  Ludovico  recovered  his  thoughts, 
than,  having  sent  for  a  friar  confessor,  he  en- 
treated him  to  seek  out  the  widow  of  Christo- 
pher, and  to  ask  her,  in  his  name,  to  pardou 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


ve 
? 


him  for  having  been  the  cause,  although  most 
certainly  the  involuntary  one,  of  her  desolate 
situation,  at  the  same  time  assuring  her  he 
would  take  upon  himself  the  care  of  her  fami- 
ly. Reflecting  further  upon  his  affairs,  he  felt 
the  revival  within  himself,  in  a  still  more  lively 
and  serious  manner,  of  that  desire  to  become  a 
friar,  which  at  other  times  had  occupied  his 
mind  ;  it  seemed  to  him,  as  if  God  had  direct- 
ed his  steps,  and  given  him  a  sign  of  his  will, 
by  causing  him  to  be  brought  to  that  convent, 
at  such  a  juncture,  and  his  determination  was 
taken.  He  desired  the  guardian  of  the  con- 
vent to  be  called,  and  communicated  to  him 
his  design.  He  was  answered,  that  hasty  reso- 
lutions were  to  be  avoided,  but  that  if  he  per- 
sisted in  his  intention,  he  would  not  be  re- 
fused. Upon  which,  having  sent  for  a  notary 
he  dictated  a  donation  of  all  the  property  that 
he  still  had,  (not  a  small  patrimony,)  to  the 
family  of  Christopher,  a  particular  sum  to  the 
widow,  as  if  he  was  constituting  a  dowry  for 
her,  and  the  remainder  to  her  children. 

The  resolution  of  Ludovico  came  opportune- 
ly for  his  hosts,  who  on  his  account  had  got 
into  no  small  difficulty.  To  drive  him  from 
the  convent,  and  expose  him  to  justice,  that  is, 
to  the  vengeance  of  his  enemies,  was  not  a 
course  .they  could  even  deliberate  upon.  It 
would  have  been  equal  to  a  renunciation  of  their 
own  privileges  :  to  the  discrediting  of  the  con- 
ventwith  the  people.  It  would  have  drawn  the 

imadversion  of  all  the  capuchins  in  the 
world  down  upon  them  for  having  betrayed  the 
rights  of  all,  and  have  roused  against  them  all 
the  ecclesiastical  authorities,  which  consider- 
ed themselves  the  guardians  of  these  rights. 
On  the  other  side,  the  family  of  the  slain  cava- 
lier, extremely  powerful  and  strong  in  adhe- 
rents had  adopted  means  to  take  vengeance,and 
had  declared  every  one  fceir  enemy, who  should 
oppose  them  in  any  manner.  How  far  this 
death  was  a  {rue  cause  of  grief  to  them,  how 
many  tears  were  shed  on  his  account  by  his 
connexions,  the  story  does  not  relate,  it  only 
says  that  they  were  inflamed  with  the  desire  to 
have  the  homicide  in  their  power,  dead  or  alive. 

But  this  determination  to  put  on  the  capu- 
chin habit  reconciled  every  thing.  To  a  cer- 
tain extent  it  made  amends ;  it  imposed  a  peni- 
tence upon  himself;  it  acknowledged  himself 
to  be  implicitly  in  fault ;  it  was  withdrawing 
himself  from  all  future  quarrels  ;  it  was  in  fact 
assuming  the  position  of  an  enemy  who  lays 
down  his  arms.  The  relations  of  the  defunct 
might  even,  if  they  chose,  believe  and  vaunt 
that  he  had  become  a  friar  through  despair  and 
terror  of  their  resentment ;  and,  at  any  rate,  to 
bring  a  man  to  the  point  of  alienating  his  pro- 
perty, shaving  his  head,  walking  barefoot, 
sleeping  upon  straw,  and  living  upon  alms, 
would  seem  a  sufficient  punishment  for  of- 
fences of  the  very  worst  character.  The  fa- 
ther guardian  presented  himself  with  an  unaf- 
fected humility  to  the  brother  of  the  deceased, 
and  after  many  protestations  of  respect  for  his 
illustrious  house,  and  of  a  desire  to  propitiate 


them  in  every  practicable  way,  spoke  of  the 
repentance  of  Ludovico,  and  of  his  determina- 
tion :  giving  him  to  understand,  in  the  most 
courteous  manner,  that  his  house  had  reason 
to  be  satisfied  ;  and  insinuating  in  a  very  mild 
and  still  more  dexterous  language,  that  whe- 
ther they  were  satisfied  or  not,  the  matter 
must  rest  here.  The  brother  went  into  a  fury, 
which  the  capuchin  permitted  to  evaporate, 
saying  from  time  to  time,  "  Your  griet  is  too 
just."  He  gave  him  to  understand  that  in  any 
case  his  family  would  not  lack  the  means  of 
getting  satisfaction,  and  the  capuchin,  what- 
ever his  opinion  might  be,  took  care  not  to 
contradict  him.  Finally  he  required,  and  im- 
posed as  a  condition,  that  the  slayer  of  his  bro- 
ther should  immediately  leave  the  city.  The 
capuchin  who  had  already  determined  upon 
this,  said  that  it  should  be  so,  leaving  him  to 
believe,  if  he  liked,  that  this  was  an  act  of  obe- 
dience, and  so  every  thing  was  concluded. 
The  family  was  content,  because  they  had  got 
rid  of  a  disagreeble  affair;  the  friars  were 
content,  because  they  had  saved  a  man,  as  well 
as  their  privileges,  without  making  an  enemy ; 
the  cavaliers  were  content,  because  the  af- 
fair had  been  brought  to  a  satisfactory  termi- 
nation ;  the  people  were  content,  because  a 
man  whom  they  liked,  was  extricated  from  a 
difficulty,  and  because  at  the  same  time  they 
admired  conversions ;  finally,  more  content  than 
all  the  rest,  in  the  midst  of  his  grief,  was  Lu- 
dovico, who  was  now  to  enter  upon  a  life  of 
expiation,  and  of  service,  that  might,  if  it  did 
not  repair,  at  least  atone  for  his  deed,  and 
deaden  the  intolerable  sting  of  remorse.  The 
suspicion  that  his  determination  might  be  at- 
tributed to  fear,  afflicted  him  a  moment,  but  he 
soon  consoled  himself  with  the  reflection  that 
even  that  unjust  judgment  would  be  a  chas- 
tisement for  him,  and  a  means  of  expiation. 
Thus,  at  the  age  of  thirty  years,  he  wrapped 
himself  in  the  sackcloth  of  the  capuchins,  and 
obliged,  according  to  custom,  to  abandon  his 
own  name,  and  to  take  another,  he  selected 
one  that  at  every  moment  should  remind  him 
of  the  cause  of  his  expiation,  and  called  him- 
self friar  Christopher. 

Scarcely  was  the  ceremony  of  investiture 
completed,  when  the  father  guardian  intimated 

to  him,  that  his  noviciate  must  be  passed  at 

sixty  miles  off,  and  that  he  must  depart  the 
next  day.  The  noviciate  bowed  reverently, 
and  asked  a  favor.  "  Suffer  me,  father,"  said 
he,  "  ere  I  leave  this  city,  where  I  have  shed 
the  blood  of  a  man,  where  I  leave  a  family 
deeply  offended,  that  I  remove  the  affront, 
that  I  show  at  least  my  remorse  at  not  being 
able  to  repair  the  injury  I  have  done,  by  asking 
pardon  of  the  brother  of  the  deceased,  and  of  re- 
moving, if  it  is  God's  pleasure,  the  rancor  from 
his  soul."  It  seemed  to  the  guardian,  that  such 
an  act,  besides  being  good  in  itself,  would  as- 
sist to  reconcile  the  ramily  still  more  to  the 
convent,  and  he  immediately  went  to  the  bro- 
ther, to  communicate  to  him  the  request  of  fri- 
ar Christopher.  At  so  unexpected  a  proposi- 


26 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


taon,  «the  brother  experienced,  with  his  aston 
ishinent,  a  movement  of  anger,  mixed  how 
ever  with  complacency.  After  having  re 
fleeted  a  moment,  "  Let  him  come  tomorrow,' 
said  he,  and  named  the  hour.  The  guardiar 
returned  to  communicate  to  the  noviciate  the 
desired  permission. 

Tlie  cavalier  soon  perceived  that  the  mon 
solemn  and  public  this  act  of  submission  was 
the  more  his  credit  with  his  connections  anc 
with  the  public  would  increase,  and  that  i 
would  be  (to  clothe  it  in  an  elegant  phrase  o 
modern  times)  aline  page  in  the  history  of  the 
family.    In  great  haste  he  sent  advice  to  al 
his  relatives,  that  on  the  next  day,  at  noon,  they 
should  convene  at  his  mansion,  to  receive 
common  satisfaction.  At  noon,  the  palace  was 
crowded  with  personages  of  every  age  and 
every  sex,  with  a  circling  about,  a  mixing  up  ol 
immense  capes,  of  lofty  plumes,  a  cautious 
movement  of  starched  and  crisped  ruffs,  and  a 
confused  dragging  about  of  arabesque  symars.* 
The  antichambers,  the  court  yard,  and  the 
street  swarmed  with  servants,  pages,  Bravos, 
and  idle  people.    Friar  Christopher  saw  all 
this  preparation,  and  in  divining  the  cause, 
experienced  a  slight  perturbation  ;  but  an  in- 
stant after,  he  said  to  nimself — "  It  is  well — I 
slew  him  in  public,  in  the  presence  of  so  many 
of  his  enemies.    That  was  a  dishonor,  and 
this  is  a  reparation."    Thus,  with  his  eyes  on 
the  grouncl,  with  the  father  at  his  side  for  a 
companion,  he  passed  the  gate  of  the  mansion, 
and  crossed  the  court  yard  through  a  crowd 
that  stared  at  him  with  an  unceremonious  cu- 
riosity. Ascending  the  stairs,  through  another 
crowd  of  gentleiolks,  who  made  room  for 
him  to  pass,  followed  by  a  hundred  curious 
eyes,  he  arrived  in  the  presence  of  the  master 
of  the  house,  who,  surrounded  by  his  nearest 
relatives,  stood  erect  in  the  midst  of  the  hall, 
his  chin  lifted  up,  his  eves  bent  downwards, 
with  his  left  hand  grasping  the  pummel  of  his 
sword,  and  drawing,  with  his  right,  the  cape 
of  his  cloak  upon  his  breast. 

There  is,  at  times,  in  the  countenance,  and 
in  the  deportment  of  a  man,  an  expression  so 
remarkable,  that  it  may  be  said  to  be  an  eflu- 
sion  of  the  soul  within  ;  so  that  there  can,  in  a 
crowd  of  spectators,  be  but  one  opinion  con- 
cerning it.  The  countenance  and  deportment 
of  friar  Christopher,  revealed  at  once  to  the 
beholders  that  he  had  not  become  a  friar,  nor 
offered  himself  to  so  much  humiliation  through 
human  fear,  and  all  their  minds  began  to  be 
conciliated  to  him.  When  he  saw  the  injured 
brother,  he  quickened  his  pace,  knelt  before 
him,  crossed  his  hands  upon  his  breast,  and 
bowing  down  his  shaven  head,  said  these 
words  :  "  I  am  the  homicide  of  your  brother. 
God  knows  I  would  restore  him  to  you  at 
the  cost  of  my  own  blood,  but  having  nothing 
but  inefficacious  and  tardy  excuses  to  make 
to  you,  I  beseech  you  to  accept  them  for  God's 
sake."  AH  eyes  were  immoveably  fixed  upon 


'  A  long  dress. 


the  noviciate,  and  to  the  person  to  whom  he 
addressed  himself;  every  ear  was  intent.  When 
brother  Christopher  ceased  to  speak,  a  murmur 
of  compassion  and  respect ;  arose  in  the  hall. 
The  cavalier,  who  stood  in  an  attitude  ot 
forced  complacency,  and  of  repressed  anger, 
was  moved  by  these  words,  and  stooping  to- 
wards the  kneeling  supplicant,  he  answered 
with  a  disturbed  voice, "  The  offence — the  act 
truly — but  the  habit  you  wear — not  this  alone, 
but  also  you,  yourself — rise,  father — my  bro- 
ther— I  cannot  deny  it — was  a  cavalier — a 
man — somewhat  hasty — somewhat  quick.  But 
all  things  are  ruled  by  God — let  no  more  be 
said.  But,  father,  you  must  not  remain  in  this 
posture ;"  and,  taking  him  by  the  arm,  he 
raised  him  up.  Brother  Christopher,  stand- 
ing up,  but  with  his  head  drooping,  answered, 
"  I  may,  then,  hope  that  you  have  granted  ine 
your  pardon ;  and  if  I  obtain  it  from  you,  from 
whom  may  I  not  hope  to  obtain  it !  Oh  !  if  I 
could  only  hear  from  your  lips  these  words, 
'I  pardon  you!' " 

"  I  pardon  you  ?"  said  the  cayalier,  <•  you 
have  no  occasion  for  it.  But,  indeed,  since 
you  desire  it,  I  pardon  you  from  my  heart, 
and  all—" 

'All,  all,"  cried  out  at  once  the  assembled 
company.    The  countenance  of  the  friar  once 
more  expanded  itself  with  grateful  joy ;  be- 
neath which  still  appeared  a  numble  and  pro- 
bund  compunction  for  a  deed,  to  which  the 
remission  of  men  was  insufficient.    The  cava- 
ier,  overcome  by  his  aspect,  and  by  the  gene- 
ral agitation,  threw  his  arms  around  the  neck 
of  Christopher,  and  exchanged  the  kiss  of 
>eace  with    him.      "Bravo,    well    done!" 
>roke  out  from  every  part  of  the  hall  ;  all  were 
n  motion,  and  eager  to  approach  the  friar.  In 
he  meantime,  the    servants  brought    great 
quantities  of  refreshments.     The  cavalier, 
again  drawing  near  to  Christopher,  who  was 
ireparing  to  take  his  leave,  said,  "  Father,  be 
'leased  to  take  something  or  other,  give  me 
his  proof  of  your  friendship."    And  he  put 
limself  in  the  act  of  serving  him  before  the 
est ;  but  drawingback,  with  a  kind  of  amia- 
)le  resistance,  "These  things,"  said  he,  "are 
10  longer  for  me,  but  heaven  forbid  that  I 
hould  refuse  your  gills.    I  am  going  a  jour- 
ney, be  pleased  then  to  cause  a  loaf  to  be 
nven  to  me,  that  I  may  say  I  have  enjoyed 
rour  charity,  that  I  have  eaten  your  bread, 
nd  received  a  sign  of  your  pardon."    The 
avalier,  touched,  ordered  this  to  be  done ;  and 
major  domo,  dressed  in  great  gala,  immedi- 
tely  came,  bringing  a  loaf  in  a  silver  salver, 
nd  presented  it  to  the  father,  who  having  taken 
,  and  given  thanks,  put  it  in  his  basket.    He 
icn  asked  permission  to  go,  and  having  again 
rnbraced  the  master  01  the  house,  and  all 
lose  near  enough  to  get  hold  of  him,  for  a 
noment,  got  away  with  difficulty.    In  the 
ntichambers  he  had  the  same  trouble  to  free 
imself  from  the  servants,  and  even  from  the 
Iravos,  who  kissed  the  hem  of  his  garment, 
iis  cordon,  and  hia  cowl.    Thus  borne  iuto 


I  PROMESSl  SPOSI. 


27 


the  street  in  triumph,  and  accompanied  by  a 
crowd  of  people,  as  far  as  one  of  the  gates  of 
the  city,  he  took  his  departure,  beginning  his 
pedestrian  journey  towards  the  place  of  his 
noviciate. 

The  brother  of  the  deceased  cavalier,  and 
his  relatives,  who  had  prepared  themselves  on 
that  day  to  taste  the  miserable  pleasures  of  a 
gratified  pride,  had  their  hearts  filled  with  that 
serene  joy,  which  pardon  and  benevolence  in- 
spire. The  company  remained  some  time  in 
unusual  cordiality  and  cheerfulness,  indulging 
in  reasonings  and  feelings  for  which  no  one 
had  been  prepared.  Instead  of  satisfactions 
rendered,  an  assault  vindicated,  and  enterprizes 
abandoned,  the  praises  of  the  noviciate,  recon- 
ciliations, and  benignity,  were  the  themes  of 
their  conversation.  And  such  a  one,  who  for 
the  fiftieth  time  would  have  related,  how 
Count  Muzio,  his  father,  knew,  in  a  famous 
juncture,  how  to  put  a  stop  to  that  Marquis 
Stanislaus,  who  was  a  rodomont  known  to 
every  body;  in  the  place  of  it,  dwelt  upon  the 
penitences  and  the  wonderful  patience  of  a 
brother  Simon,  who  died  many  years  before. 
The  company  being  gone,  the  master  of  the 
house,  yet  affected  oy  his  emotions,  again  re- 
volved in  his  mind,  with  surprise,  what  he  had  ' 
heard,  and  what  he  himself  had  said,  and  mut- 
tered between  his  teeth — "  The  devil  take 
that  friar !  (We  must  give  his  precise  words.) 
The  devil  take  that  fnar !  if  he  had  remained 
any  longer  on  his  knees,  I  should  have  been 
almost  tor  begging  him  to  excuse  me,  because 
he  had  killed  my  brother."  Our  history  ex- 
pressly  notes  that  from  that  day  he  became  a 
little  less  impetuous,  and  more  manageable. 

Father  Christopher  walked  on  with  a  conso- 
lation at  heart  he  had  never  experienced  since 
that  terrible  day,  to  expiate  which  his  whole 
life  was  to  be  consecrated.  Silence  was  im- 
posed on  noviciates,  and  he  observed  the  in- 
junction without  pain,  entirely  absorbed  in  the 
thought  of  the  fatigues,  the  privations,  and  the 
humiliations  that  he  must  endure,  in  order  to 
atone  for  his  fault.  At  the  hour  of  repast,  he 
stopped  at  a  benevolent  person's,  and  ate  with 
a  kind  of  voluptuousness  of  the  bread  of  par- 
don, but  spared  a  crust  of  it,  and  placed  it  in 
his  basket,  to  preserve  it  as  a  perpetual  re- 
membrance. 

It  is  not  our  design  to  enter  upon  the  histo- 
ry of  his  cloisteral  life  ;  we  shall  only  say,  that 
discharging  always  with  good  will  and  great 
care  the  duties  which  were  ordinarily  assigned 
to  him,  of  preaching  and  of  assisting  the  dying, 
he  never  permitted  an  occasion  to  pass  by  of 
discharging  two  other  duties  he  had  imposed 
upon  himself;  of  making  up  quarrels,  and  of 
protecting  the  oppressed.  In  this  way  he  in- 
dulged, without  being  aware  of  it,  in  some 
degree  his  ancient  habits,  and  some  little  re- 
mains of  that  belligerent  spirit,  which  humili- 
ations and  mortifications  had  not  been  able  en- 
tirely to  extinguish  in  him.  His  conversation 
was  habitually  mild  and  humble,  but  when  the 
subject  was  oppugnancy  to  justice  and  truth, 


he  became  at  once  animated  with  his  old  feel- 
ings and  warmth,  which  mixed  up  with,  and 
modified  by,  that  solemn  emphasis,  which  the 
habit  of  preaching  had  given  him,  impressed 
his  discourse  with  a  singular  character.  His 
whole  deportment,  as  well  as  his  aspect,  an- 
nounced a  long  contest  between  a  quick  and 
hasty  nature,  and  an  opposing  will,  habitually 
victorious,  always  on  the  alert,  and  governed 
by  lofty  motives  and  inspirations.  One  of  his 
brethren,  and  a  friend  of  his,  who  knew  him 
well,  once  compared  him  to  those  words  too 
expressive  in  their  natural  form,  which  some 
persons,  however  well  bred,  when  passion 
rules,  pronounce  in  a  suppressed  manner,  and 
even  changing  a  letter  or  two ;  words  which, 
however  disguised,  remind  one  of  their  primi- 
tive energy. 

If  a  poor  unknown  girl,  as  in  the  melancho- 
ly case  of  Lucia,  had  asked  the  assistance  of 
father  Christopher,  he  would  have  given  it  to 
her  immediately.  But,  knowing  it  was  Lucia, 
he  went  to  her  aid  with  the  greater  solicitude, 
because  he  knew  and  admired  her  innocence ; 
had  trembled  at  the  danger  she  was  exposed 
to,  and  felt  a  lively  indignation  at  the  brutal 
persecution  of  which  she  was  the  object.  To 
this  also  may  be  added,  that  having  advised 
her,  as  the  best  course,  to  say  nothing  for  the 
present,  and  to  remain  quiet,  lie  was  afraid  the 
advice  had  produced  a  bad  effect ;  and  to  the 
solicitude  of  true  charity,  which  in  him  was, 
as  it  were,  innate,  was  added,  in  this  case,  that 
scrupulous  anxiety,  which  often  torments  the 
good. 

But  whilst  we  are  occupied  in  relating  the 
affairs  of  father  Christopher,  he  is  arrived,  pre- 
sents himself  to  the  door,  and  the  women,  drop- 
ping the  handle  of  the  revolving  and  screak- 
ing wheel,  jumped  up,  crying  at  the  same 
time,  "  Here's  father  Christopher !  God  bless 
him!" 


CHAPTER  V. 

AND  there  stood  the  identical  father  Chris- 
topher, erect  upon  the  threshold,  who,  with  a 
single  glance  at  the  women,  could  not  fail  to 
perceive  that  his  presentiments  had  not  de- 
ceived him.  Whence,  with  that  tone  of  inter- 
rogation which  precedes  a  sorrowful  answer, 
and  raising  his  beard,  by  throwing  his 
head  back  with  a  slight  movement,  he  said, 
"  Well,  then  ?"  Lucia  answered  by  a  burst  of 
tears.  The  mother  began  by  making  excuses 
for  having  dared — but  advancing  and  seat- 
ing himself  upon  a  small  bench  with  three 
legs,  he  cut  all  excuses  short,  saying  to  Lucia, 
"  Tranquilize  yourself,  poor  girl !  and  you," 
turning  to  Agnes,  "  tell  me  what  has  happen- 
ed." ^Wliilst  the  good  woman  told  her  sad 
story  in  the  best  way  she  could,  the  friar 
turned  a  thousand  colors,  and  sometimes  raised 


28 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


his  eyes  to  heaven,  sometimes  beat  the  floor 
with  his  feet.  The  story  being  told,  he  covered 
his  face  with  both  his  hands,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Oh,  blessed  God,  to  what  point — ! "  but  with- 
out finishing  the  phrase,  turning  again  to 
the  women,  "  Poor  creatures,"  he  said ;  "  God 
has  visited  you,  poor  Lucia  !;> 

"You  will  not  abandon  us,  father?"  said 
Lucia,  sobbing. 

"  Abandon  you !"  replied  he,  "  Great  God  ! 
with  what  face  could  I  ask  any  thing  for  my- 
self, if  I  were  to  abandon  you  ?  You,  in  this 
condition !  You,  whom  he  has  confided  to  me ! 
Do  not  lose  your  courage  ;  he  will  assist  you. 
He  sees  every  thing;  he  can  even  make  use  of 
a  man  who  is  nothing — like  myself,  to  con- 
found a — let  us  see,  let  us  think  upon  what  can 
be  done." 

Saying  this,  he  leaned  his  left  elbow  upon 
his  knee,  lowered  his  forehead  into  his  palm, 
and  with  his  right  hand  grasped  his  beard  and 
his  chin,  as  if  to  hold  all  the  powers  of  his  mind 
firm  and  united.  But  the  most  attentive  con- 
sideration only  served  to  convince  him  dis- 
tinctly how  pressing  and  intricate  the  case  was, 
and  how  few,  how  uncertain,  and  how  dan- 
gerous were  the  remedies.  To  penetrate  Don 
Abbondio  with  shame,  and  make  him  sensible 
how  he  had  failed  in  his  duty  ?  But  shame 
and  duty  were  nothing  to  a  man  like  him,  un- 
der the  influence  of  fear.  To  make  him  afraid  ? 
What  means  have  I  to  create  a  greater  appre- 
hension in  him,  than  that  which  he  has  of  be- 
ing fired  at?  To  inform  the  cardinal  arch- 
bishop, and  invoke  his  authority  ?  That  will 
be  a  long  business,  and  in  the  meantime — and 
afterwards  ?  When  even  this  unhappy  inno- 
cent should  become  a  wife,  would  that  bridle 
this  man  ?  Who  knows  how  far  he  might 
go  ?  And  then  to  resist  him  ?  How  ?  Ah ! 
if  I  could  get  my  brethren  here,  those  of  Milan, 

to !  But  this  is  not  a  common  affair ;  I 

should  be  abandoned.  He  pretends  to  be  a 
friend  to  the  convent,  gives  himself  out  for  a 
partisan  of  the  capuchins,  and  his  own  villan- 
ous  dependents  and  tools,  have  they  not  more 
than  once  taken  refuge  with  us  ?  I  should  be 
left  alone,  and  should  be  called  a  disturber,  an 
cmbroiler,  a  quarrelsome  man,  and,  what  is 
more,  I  might  also,  by  an  injudicious  attempt, 
make  this  poor  girl's  situation  still  worse.  Ha- 
ving compared  all  the  reasons  for  and  against 
this  and  the  other  plan,  it  appeared  to  him  best 
to  see  Don  Rodngo  himself,  to  endeavor  to 
dissuade  him  from  his  infamous  intention,  by 
supplications,  and  by  terrors  of  another  world, 
if  it  were  possible  to  inspire  him  with  such. 
At  the  worst,  in  this  manner  it  might  be  dis- 
covered more  clearly  how  far  he  was  deter- 
mined to  pursue  his  vile  plan,  to  discover 
something  more  of  it,  and  take  further  coun- 
sel. 

Whilst  the  friar  was  thus  meditating,  Renzo, 
who,  for  the  various  reasons  which  may  be 
divined,  was  unable  to  keep  far  from  the 
house,  had  appeared  at  the  door ;  but  perceiv- 
ing the  fattier  absorbed,  and  the  women  ma- 


king signs  not  to  disturb  him,  stood  upon  the 
threshold  in  silence.  Raising  his  face  to  com- 
municate to  the  women  his  intention,  the  friar 
perceived  him,  and  saluted  him  in  a  way  that 
expressed  an  habitual  affection,  rendered  more 
intense  by  pity. 

"  Have  tney  told  you,  father  ?"  asked  Ren- 
zo with  a  troubled  voice. 

"  Too  much,  and  on  that  account  I  am 
here." 

"  What  does  your  worship  say  of  that  scoun- 
drel  ?" 

"  What  would  you  that  I  should  say  of  him  ? 
he  is  far  off,  and  words  will  profit  nothing.  I 
say  to  thee,  Renzo,  that  thou  must  trust  in 
God,  and  that  he  will  not  abandon  thee." 

"  Blessed  are  your  words,"  exclaimed  the 
youth.  "  Your  worship  is  not  one  of  those  who 
are  always  against  poor  people.  But  the  cu- 
rate and  that  signer  doctor " 

"  Don't  talk  of  what  can  serve  to  no  pur- 
pose but  to  vex  thyself  uselessly.  I  am  a  poor 
friar,  but  I  repeat  to  thee  what  I  have  said  to 
these  women,  for  the  little  that  I  am  worth,  I 
will  not  abandon  you." 

"Oh,  you  are  not  like  the  friends  of  the 
world.  Useless  creatures  !  who  would  have 
believed — the  protestations  they  made  me  at 
one  time  ;  yes,  yes,  they  were  ready  to  give 
their  blood  for  me,  they  would  have  maintain- 
ed me  against  the  devil  !  If  I  had  had  an  ene- 
my ?  I  had  only  to  speak  a  word,  and  he  would 
not  have  eaten  much  more  bread.  And  now, 
only  to  see  how  they  draw  back."  At  this 
point,  the  speaker  saw  by  the  clouded  counte- 
nance of  him  who  listened  to  him,  that  he  had 
said  a  very  silly  thing,  and  wanting  to  mend 
it,  went  on  embarrassing  and  embroiling  him- 
self,— "  I  meant  to  say — I  did  not  at  all  intend 
— that  is — I  meant " 

"  What  did  you  mean  to  say  ?  How  then  ? 
You  wanted  to  destroy  my  work  before  I  had 
begun  it !  It  is  well  that  you  have  been  unde- 
ceived in  time.  What !  you  was  looking  for 
friends — what  sort  of  friends  ?  Such  as  could 
not  have  assisted  you  if  they  had  wished  it. 
And  you  was  going  to  lose  the  only  one  who 
can  and  who  will  help  you  !  Dost  thou  not 
know  that  God  is  the  friend  of  all  in  tribula- 
tion, who  trust  in  him  ?  Dost  thou  not  know 
that  it  does  the  weak  no  good  to  show  their 
teeth  ?  And  even  when" — at  this  point,  he 
clasped  strongly  the  arm  of  Renzo ;  his  aspect, 
without  losing  any  authority,  was  lighted  up 
with  a  solemn  compunction,  his  eyes  drooped, 
his  voice  became  slow  and  as  it  were  subterra- 
nean— "  and  even  when  they  do  it,  it  is  a  terri- 
ble cast !  Renzo,  wilt  thou  confide  in  me  ? 
What  do  I  say — in  me,  a  poor  miserable  man, 
an  insignificant  friar  ?  Wilt  thou  confide  in 
God?" 

"  Oh  yes,"  answered  Renzo,"  he  is  the  lord 
in  truth:" 

"  Well,  promise  that  thou  wilt  offend,  wilt 
provoke  no  one,  that  thou  wilt  be  guided  by 


"  I  promise  it.' 


I  PROMESSISPOSI. 


Lucia  gave  a  great  sigh,  as  if  she  had  been 
relieved  from  a  heavy  weight,  and  Agnes  said 
"Bravo,  son!" 

"  Hear  me,  children,"  resumed  brother 
Christopher ;  "  I  will  go  to  day  and  speak  with 
that  man.  If  God  touches  his  heart,  and  gives 
strength  to  my  words,  well ;  and  if  not,  he 
will  point  out  some  other  remedy  to  us.  In  the 
meantime,  be  tranquil,  keep  retired,  avoid  all 
talking,  do  not  show  yourselves.  This  even- 
ing, or  tomorrow  at  farthest,  you  will  see  me 
again."  Having  said  this  he  cut  short  all  thanks 
and  blessings  and  departed.  Taking  the  road 
to  the  convent,  he  arrived  in  season  to  join  the 
chorus  in  the  pscilms,  dined,  and  immediately 
began  his  expedition  to  the  den  of  the  wild 
beast  he  had  undertaken  to  tame. 

The  extensive  palace  of  Don  Rodrigo  stood  in 
an  isolated  position,  resembling  a  small  town, 
upon  the  summit  of  one  of  those  promontories 
which  jut  out  numerously  on  that  coast.  It 
was  higher  up  than  the  village  of  the  lovers, 
distant  perhaps  three  miles,  and  from  the  con- 
vent, four.  At  the  foot  of  the  promontory,  on 
the  part  looking  towards  the  lake,  was  a  heap 
of  miserable  cabins,  inhabited  by  the  country 
people  of  Don  Rodrigo,  the  little  capital  of  his 
small  kingdom.  It  sufficed  to  pass  there,  to 
comprehend  the  customs  and  state  of  the  place. 
A  single  glance  at  the  rooms  on  the  ground 
floor,  where  a  door  was  open,  disclosed  arque- 
busses,  hoes,  rakes,  straw  hats,  nets  and  pow- 
der horns,  hanging  confusedly  together  from 
the  walls.  The  men  you  met  were  gross  and 
rude,  with  a  great  tuft  thrown  back  on  the 
head,  and  enclosed  in  a  net;  the  old  ones  wrho 
had  lost  their  teeth,  seemed  always  ready,  and 
without  any  one  urging  them,  to  grind  their 
jaws  together;  and  the  women  had  strange 
masculine  faces,  and  nervous  arms,  excellent 
to  come  in  aid  of  their  tongues  at  the  first  oc- 
casion ;  in  the  countenances  and  gestures 
even  of  the  children  who  played  in  the  street, 
there  was  something  at  once  daring  and  inso- 
lent. 

Brother  Christopher  traversed  the  hamlet, 
ascending  by  a  winding  path,  and  came  upon 
a  small  terrace  in  front  of  the  palace.  The 
gate  was  shut,  a  sign  that  the  master  was  di- 
ning, and  did  not  wish  to  be  disturbed.  The 
few  and  small  windows  which  looked  upon 
the  road,  closed  by  shutters  disconnected,  and 
decayed  with  age,  were  nevertheless  defended 
by  thick  iron  bars,  and  those  of  the  ground 
floor  were  raised  so  high,  that  a  man  could 
scarce  reach  to  them  if  mounted  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  another.  A  profound  silence  reigned, 
and  a  passenger  might  have  thought  that  it  was 
an  abandoned  house,  if  four  creatures,  two 
alive  and  two  dead,  placed  symmetrically 
without,  had  not  given  indications  of  inha- 
bitants. Two  large  vultures,  their  wings  fully 
stretched  out,  and  their  heads  dangling  down, 
one  of  them  without  feathers,  and  haft  wast- 
ed away  by  time,  the  other  yet  sound  and  in 
plumage,  were  each  nailed  upon  a  post  of  the 
principal  gate ;  and  two  Bravos,  each  stretched 


out  upon  one  of  the  benches  placed  there 
right  and  left,  kept  guard,  waiting  to  be  called 
to  partake  of  the  leavings  of  their  master's  ta- 
ble. The  father  stopped  immediately,  with 
the  act  of  a  person  disposing  himself  to  wait , 
but  one  of  the  Bravos  rose,  and  said  to  him, 
"  Father,  father,  you  can  come  forward,  we 
don't  make  capuchins  wait  here ;  we  are 
friends  of  the  convent,  and  I  have  been  there 
in  certain  moments,  when  the  air  out  doors,  was 
not  very  wholesome  for  me,  and  if  they  had 
not  let  me  in,  it  would  have  gone  hard  with 
me."  Saying  this,  he  struck  two  strokes  with 
the  hammer  on  the  bell.  At  that  sound,  the 
howling  and  barking  of  mastiffs  and  dogs,  soon 
answered  from  within,  and  a  few  moments  af- 
ter an  old  servant  came  grumbling  along,  but 
seeing  the  father,  he  made  him  a  low  bow,  qui- 
eted the  animals  with  his  hands  and  voice, 
and  introduced  him  into  a  narrow  court  yard 
and  shut  the  door.  Escorting  him  then  into  a 
small  parlor,  and  looking  at  him  with  a  certain 
air  of  wonder  and  respect,  he  said, 

"  Is  not  this  father  Christopher  of  Pescare- 
nico  ?" 

"  Exactly  so." 

"He,  here !" 

"  As  you  see,  good  man." 

"  It  will  be  to  do  good  !  good,"  continued 
he,  murmuring  between  his  teeth,  and  walking 
on,  "  good  can  be  done  every  where."  Hav- 
ing passed  through  two  or  three  small  rooms 
they  reached  the  door  of  the  banqueting  hall. 
From  thence  was  heard  a  confused  rumbling  of 
knives  and  forks,  glasses,  metal  plates,  and 
above  all  of  discordant  voices  seeking  to  over- 
bear each  other.  The  friar  was  desirous  of 
keeping  back,  and  was  urging  the  servant  at 
the  door,  to  permit  him  to  remain  in  some  cor- 
ner of  the  place,  until  the  repast  was  over, 
when  the  door  opened.  A  certain  Count  At- 
tilio  who  sat  opposite  to  him,  (he  was  cousin 
to  the  master  of  the  house,  and  we  have  al- 
ready mentioned,  without  naming  him,)  see- 
ing a  tunic  and  a  shaved  head,  and  aware  of 
the  modest  intention  of  the  good  friar,  "  Ay, 
ay,"  he  called  out, "  don't  run  away,  reverend 
father,  come  forward,  come  forward."  Don 
Rodrigo,  without  guessing  precisely  the  ob- 
ject ot  his  visit,  still,  from  a  sort  of  confused 
presentiment,  would  have  excused  it.  But 
since  the  thoughtless  Attilio  had  already  call- 
ed him  so  distinctly,  he  could  not  appear  back- 
wards in  the  matter,  and  said,  "  Come  in,  fa- 
ther, come  in."  He  advanced,  bowing  to  the 
master,  and  returning  the  salutations  of  the 
guests  with  both  his  hands. 

When  an  honest  man  is  with  a  scoundrel, 
he  is  generally,  (I  do  not  say  it  of  every  one,) 
pleased  to  imagine  that  he  may  carry  a  lofty 
front,  a  confident  look,  a  raised  up  breast,  and 
a  free  tongue.  In  fact,  however,  many  circum- 
stances must  concur,  such  as  are  rarely  com- 
bined, to  enable  a  man  to  take  an  attitude  of 
that  kind.  For  this  reason,  it  ought  not  to  be 
deemed  surprising,  if  brother  Christopher, 
with  the  good  testimony  of  his  own  conscience, 


30 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


with  a  firm  opinion  of  the  justice  of  the  cause 
he  came  to  sustain,  and  a  mingled  sentiment 
of  horror  and  compassion  towards  Don  Rodri- 

§o,  should  stand  there  with  a  certain  air  of 
ashfulness  and  submission  at  the  aspect  ot 
that  same  Don  Rodrigo,  seated  there  in  his 
chair,  in  his  house,  in  his  own  territory,  sur- 
rounded by  friends,  homages,  and  indications 
of  power,  with  a  physiognomy  that  forbade 
the  utterance  of  any  request,  to  say  nothing  of 
advice,  correction,  or  reproach,  On  his  right 
sat  Count  Attilio  his  cousin,  and  if  it  is  neces- 
sary to  say  so,  his  colleague  in  libertinism  and 
excesses,  who  had  come  from  Milan  to  rural- 
ize a  few  days  with  him.  On  his  left,  and  on 
the  other  side  of  the  table,  sat,  with  great  re- 
spect, tempered  however,  with  a  sort  of  confi- 
dence, ana  something  like  presumption,  the 
signer  podesta  or  magistrate,  the  identical  per- 
son, according  to  the  proclamation,  whose  du- 
ty it  would  have  been  to  render  justice  to 
Renzo  Tramaglino,  and  to  punish  Don  Rodri- 
go. Opposite  to  the  podesta,  with  a  respect 
the  most  pure,  the  most  devoted,  was  seated 
our  Doctor  Azzecca-garbugli,  in  a  black  cloak, 
and  with  his  nose  redder  than  usual.  Front- 
ing the  two  cousins,  were  two  obscure  guests, 
respecting  whom  our  story  only  observes,  that 
they  did  nothing  but  eat,  bow  their  heads, 
smile  and  approve  every  thing  that  was  said  by 
the  other  guests,  provided  it  was  not  contra- 
dicted. 

f  Give  the  father  a  seat,"  said  Don  Rodrigo. 
A  servant  brought  a  chair,  upon  which  la- 
ther Christopher  sat  down,  excusing  himself 
to  the  master  of  the  house  for  having  come  at 
so  inopportune  a  moment.  "  I  should  wish  to 
speak  to  you  quite  alone,  about  an  affair  of 
importance,"  added  he,  with  a  low  voice  ad- 
dressed to  Don  Rodrigo. 

"  Well,  well,  we  will  talk,"  he  answered 
"but  in  the  meantime,  give  the  father  some- 
thing to  drink." 

The  father  wanted  to  excuse  himself,  but 
Don  Rodrigo  raising  his  voice,  in  the  midst  of 
the  talking  which  had  again  begun,  called  out, 
"  No,  by  Bacchus,  you  shall  not  do  me  so  much 
wrong ;  it  never  shall  be  that  a  capuchin  shall 
fro  away  from  this  house,  without  having 
tasted  my  wine,  nor  an  insolent  creditor  with- 
out having  felt  what  grows  in  my  woods,  on 
his  shoulders.  This  sally  was  followed  by  a 
general  laugh,  and  interrupted  for  a  moment 
the  dispute  warmly  kept  up  by  the  guests.  A 
servant,  bringing  upon  a  salver  a  vase  con- 
taining wine,  and  a  long  glass  in  the  shape  ol 
a  cup,  presented  them  to  the  father,  who,  not 
judging  it  prudent  to  resist  so  pressing  an  in- 
vitation from  the  man  it  was  so  important  for 
him  to  propitiate,  did  not  hesitate  to  pour  out 
the  wine,  and  began  to  sip  it  slowly. 

"  The  authority  of  Tasso  does  not  suit  your 
case,  very  revered  signer  podesta ;"."  nay,  it  is 
against  you,"  began  to  bawl  out  Don  At- 
tilio, "  for  that  erudite  scholar,  that  great  man 
who  knows  most  minutely  all  the  laws  of  chi 
valry,  has  arranged  it  so  that  the  messenger  o 


A.rgante,  before  he  carries  the  defiance  to  the 
ihristian  knights,  asks  permission  of  the  pious 
Jouillon." 

"  But  this,"  replied  the  podesta  in  as  bad  a 
'oice, "  this  is  a  redundancy,  a  mere  redundan- 
:y,  a  poetical  ornament,  since  the  messenger 
s  in  his  character  inviolable  by  the  law  of  na- 
ions,  jure  gentium;  and  without  going  so 
"ar  to  seek,  the  proverb  also  has  it,  '  an  am- 
>assador  cannot  be  punished.'  And  proverbs, 
ignor  count,  are  the  wisdom  of  the  human 
race.  And  the  messenger  having  said  nothing 
n  his  own  proper  name,  but  having  only  pre- 
ented  the  challenge  in  writing " 

"  But  when  will  you  comprehend,  that  that 
messenger  was  a  rash  fool,  knowing  nothing 
f  the  first " 

"  With  your  good  leave,  gentlemen,"  said 
3on  Rodrigo,  interrupting  them,  and  who  did 
not  wish  the  dispute  to  proceed  any  further, 
'  let  us  refer  the  matter  to  father  Christopher, 
and  agree  to  his  decision." 

"Very  well,  excellently,"  said  count  At- 
ilio,  who  thought  it  a  capital  stroke  to  get  a 
question  about  chivalry  decided  by  a  capu- 
chin ;  whilst  the  podesta,  who  had  the  dispute 
more  at  heart,  reluctantly  acquiesced,  and  with 
a  slight  grimace,  that  seemed  to  say,  "  boy's 
! " 

But  from  what  I  seem  to  have  heard,"  said 
lie  father,  "these  are  not  matters  about 
which  I  ought  to  have  any  knowledge." 

"  The  common  excuses  of  the  modesty  of 
(Tour  reverences,"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  "  but  we 
ivon't  let  you  off.  Ay !  ay,  we  know  very 
well  that  your  worship  did  not  come  into  the 
world  witn  a  cowl  on  your  head,  and  that  the 
world  has  been  acquainted  with  you.  Come, 
come,  here  is  the  question." 

"  The  fact  is  as  thus,"  count  Attilio  began 
to  cry  out. 

'  Let  me,  who  am  neutral,  state  it,  cousin," 
said  Don  Rodrigo. 

"  This  is  the  story  :  a  Spanish  cavalier  sends 
a  challenge  to  a  Milanese  cavalier ;  the  mes- 
senger not  finding  the  challenged  party  at 
home,  delivers  the  cartel  to  a  brother  of  the 
cavalier,  who  reads  the  challenge,  and,  by  way 
of  answer,  gives  the  messenger  a  thrashing 
with  a  club.  The  question " 

"  Very  well  given,  and  excellently  applied," 
screamed  out  Don  Attilio,  "  it  was  a  perfect 
inspiration." 

"  Of  the  devil,"  said  the  podesta.  "  Strike 
an  ambassador !  a  sacred  person  !  Even  you, 
father,  will  tell  me  if  that  is  an  act  becoming  a 
cavalier." 

"  Yes,  sir,  becoming  a  cavalier!"  cried  out 
the  count ;  "  and  permit  me  to  say  so,  who 
understands  what  it  becomes  a  cavalier  to  do. 
If  he  had  struck  him  with  his  fists,  it  would 
have  been  another  affair;  but  a  gentleman 
may  use  a  club,  without  dirtying  his  hands. 
But  what  I  cannot  understand  is,  why  you 
make  so  much  to  do  about  the  shoulders  of 
such  a  low  fellow." 

"  Who  has  said  any  thing  about  shoulders, 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


31 


Count  ?  You  put  extravagancies  in  my  mouth 
that  never  came  into  my  head.  I  spoke  of 
character,  and  not  of  shoulders ;  above  all,  I 
am  speaking  of  the  laws  of  chivalry.  Have 
the  goodness  to  tell  me,  if  the  heralds  that  the 
ancient  Romans  sent  to  deliver  defiances  to 
the  other  nations — if  they  sought  permission 
first  to  deliver  their  embassy;  and  then  be 
kind  enough  to  find  me  some  writer  who 
makes  mention  of  a  herald  ever  having  been 
beaten." 

"  What  have  those  officials  of  the  ancient 
Romans  to  do  with  our  customs  ?  A  people 
that  did  whatever  they  pleased,  and  that  in 
these  matters  were  far  behind — far  behind. 
But,  according  to  the  laws  of  modern  chivalry, 
which  are  the  true  laws,  I  say  and  maintain, 
that  a  messenger  who  is  audacious  enough  to 
put  a  challenge  into  the  hands  of  a  cavalier, 
without  having  first  demanded  permission,  is 
a  rash  fellow,  that  you  may  violate  in  all  vio- 
lable  ways,  and  thrash  in  all  tlirashable  ways." 

"  Answer  me  this  syllogism,  now " 

"  No,  no,  no,  no !" 

"  But  hear,  hear,  hear.    To  strike  an  un- 
armed man  is  a  treacherous  act.    Jltque  the 
messenger  de  quo  was  without  arms,  Ergo — " 
"  Gently,  gently,  signer  podesta." 
"  How,  gently .}" 

"  Gently,  I  tell  you,  what  are  you  talking 
about  ?  A  treacherous  act  is  to  strike  with  a 
sword  behind,  or  to  fire  into  a  man's  back  ; 
and  even  then  there  are  certain  cases — but  let 
us  hold  to  the  question.  I  admit,  that  gene- 
rally speaking,  this  may  be  called  treacherous, 
but  to  give  a  slight  drubbing  to  a  beggarly  low 
rascal !  It  would  be  a  fine  thing  if  one  had  to 
tell  such  a  fellow — look  out,  1  am  going  to 
thrash  you — as  one  would  say  to  a  gentleman, 
draw  your  sword !  And  you,  most  revered 
signer  doctor,  instead  of  grinning  as  if  you 
were  of  my  opinion,  why  don't  you  sustain 
my  reasons  with  your  good  clapper,  and  help 
me  to  drive  some  sense  into  this  gentleman's 
head?" 

"  I ,"  answered  the  doctor,  rather  con- 
fused, "  I  delight  in  this  learned  dispute,  and 
thank  the  happy  accident  which  has  given 
birth  to  such  a  graceful  conflict  of  wit.  And 
then  it  is  not  for  me  to  decide  ;  a  most  illus- 
trious person  has  already  appointed  a  judge — 

the  father  here " 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  "  but  how 
is  the  judge  to  speak  when  the  litigants  won't 
be  silent?" 

"I  am  mute,"  said  Count  Attilio.  The 
podesta  also  made  signs  that  he  would  remain 
silent. 

"Ah,  at  length !  now  you,  father,"  said 
Don  Rodrigo,  with  a  quizzing  sort  of  gra- 
vity. 

"  I  have  already  made  my  excuse  by  saying, 
I  do  not  understand,"  replied  father  Christo- 
pher, returning  the  glass  to  the  servant. 

"  Poor  excuses,"  cried  out  the  two  cousins ; 
"  let  us  have  the  decision." 
"  If  it  must  be  so,"  resumed  the  friar,  "  my 


poor  opinion  would  be,  that  there  should 
neither  be  challenges,  nor  messengers,  nor 
beatings."  The  guests  stared  at  each  other. 

"On,  that  is  too  monstrous!"  said  Count 
Attilio ;  "  pardon  me,  father,  but  that  is  too 
bad.  It  is  very  clear  that  you  don't  understand 
the  world." 

"  He  ?"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  "  Ah,  ah !  he 
knows  it  as  well  as  you  do,  cousin.  Is  it  not 
true,  father ;  say,  have  not  you  had  your  run 
through  it  ?" 

Instead  of  replying  to  this  benevolent  insinu- 
ation, the  friar  exchanged  a  word  in  secret 
with  himself— this  comes  home  to  thyself,  but 
remember,  friar,  that  you  are  not  here  on  your 
own  account — and  whatever  hits  you  only, 
must  be  disregarded. — 

"  It  will  be — "  said  Attilio,  "  but  the  fa- 
ther— what  is  the  father's  name  ?" 

"  Father  Christopher,"  replied  one  of  them. 

"  But,  father  Christopher,  my  most  respect- 
able sir,  with  these  maxims  of  yours,  you 
would  turn  the  world  upside  down.  Without 
challenges  !  Without  beatings  !  Adieu,  point 
of  honor;  impunity  for  all  dirty  rascals!  Hap- 
pily the  supposition  is  impossible." 

"Come,  doctor,"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  who 
was  seeking  always  to  divert  the  dispute  from 
the  two  first  disputants — "  Come,  let's  have 
your  opinion ;  you  are  a  man  that  can  decide 
any  thing  and  every  thing ;  let  us  see  how 
you  will  set  father  Christopher  right  in  this 
affair." 

"  In  truth,"  replied  the  doctor,  brandishing 
his  fork  in  the  air,  and  turning  to  the  friar, 
"  in  truth,  I  cannot  comprehend  how  father 
Christopher,  who  is  at  the  same  time  a  perfect 
religious  man,  and  a  man  of  the  world,  has 
not  perceived  that  his  sentence,  good,  excel- 
lent, and  of  great  weight  in  the  pulpit,  is 
worth  nothing  at  all ;  I  say  it  with  all  respect, 
in  a  dispute  about  chivalry.  But  the  father 
knows  better  than  I  do,  that  every  thing  is 
good  in  its  place ;  and  I  believe,  that  upon 
this  occasion,  he  has  wanted  to  extricate  him- 
self with  a  little  joke,  from  the  perplexity  he 
felt  at  deciding  the  matter." 

What  answer  could  be  given  to  reasonings 
deduced  from  wisdom  so  very  ancient,  and  still 
always  new  ?  None.  And  so  the  friar  left  the 
matter. 

But  Don  Rodrigo,  to  put  an  end  to  that 
question,  got  up  another.  "  A  propos,"  said 
he,  "  I  hear  there  is  some  talk  at  Milan  of 
an  accommodation." 

The  reader  knows,  that  in  that  year  there 
was  a  disputed  succession  about  the  Dukedom 
of  Mantua,  into  the  possession  of  which,  on 
the  death  of  Vincent  Gonzaga,  who  had  left  no 
male  heir,  the  Duke  of  Nevers,  his  nearest 
relation,  had  entered.  Louis  XIII,  or  the 
Cardinal  of  Richelieu,  wished  to  support  him, 
on  account  of  his  affection  to  him  as  a  native 
Frenchman.  Philip  IV,  or  the  Count  of 
Olivares,  commonly  called  the  Count  Duke, 
was  opposed  to  him  for  the  same  reasons,  and 
made  war  upon  him.  But  as  that  duchy  was 


32 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


feudatory  of  the  empire,  the  two  parties  were 
operating  by  manoeuvres,  pressing  instances, 
and  even  threats,  with  the  Emperor  Ferdi- 
nand II ;  the  first,  to  induce  him  to  grant  the 
investiture  to  the  new  duke ;  the  second,  to 
prevail  upon  him,  not  only  to  refuse  it,  but  to 

five  his  assistance  to  drive  him  from  the 
uchy. 

"  I  am  not  far  from  believing,"  said  Count 
Attilio,  "  that  matters  may  be  adjusted.  I 
have  certain  reasons — " 

"Don't  you  believe  it,  count,  don't  you  be- 
lieve it,"  interrupted  the  podesta.  "  I,  in  this 
little  corner  of  the  world,  may  know  some- 
thing too  about  the  affair.  The  Spanish  Cas- 
tellan, a  gentleman  who  does  me  the  honor  to 
entertain  some  kindness  for  me,  and  who,  by 
reason  of  his  being  the  son  of  a  servant  of  the 
Count  Dukes,  is  informed  of  every  thing — " 

"  And  I  say  that  it  occurs  to  me  to  speak 
with  high  personages  every  day  in  Milan,  and 
I  know,  from  a  very  good  quarter,  that  the 
pope,  who  is  exceedingly  interested  in  pre- 
serving peace,  has  made  propositions — " 

"  That  is  all  right — nothing  can  be  more 
proper.  His  Holiness  does  his  duty,  a  pope 
ought  always  to  be  engaged  in  good  acts  be- 
tween Christian  princes ;  but  the  Count  Duke 
has  a  policy  to  observe,  and — " 

"And,  and,  and,  do  you  know  my  good  sir, 
what  the  emperor  is  thinking  of  at  this  mo- 
ment ?  Do  you  suppose  there  is  no  place  but 
Mantua  in  this  worm  ?  There  are  many  things 
to  be  looked  after,  my  good  sir.  Do  you  know, 
for  example,  how  far  the  emperor  may  trust 
himself  at  this  time  to  that  prince  of  his  of 
Valdistano,  or  Vallistai,  or  how  does  he  call 
himself?  And  if—" 

"  The  legitimate  name  in  the  German  lan- 
guage," once  more  interrupted  the  podesta, 
"is  Wallenstein,  as  I  have  more  than  once 
heard  it  pronounced  by  the  Spanish  Signor 
Castellan.  But  do  you  be  assured,  that " 

"Will  you  teach  me?"  broke  in  the  count, 
but  Don  Rodrigo,  with  his  knee,  begged  him, 
as  it  were,  for  nis  sake,  to  give  over  contra- 
dicting the  podesta ;  he  therefore  stopped,  but 
his  adversary,  like  a  shin  that  had  floated  off 
the  shoals,  continued  under  full  sail,  the  course 
of  his  eloquence.  "  Wallenstein  gives  me  very 
little  trouble,  for  the  Count  Duke  has  his  eye 
every  where,  and  upon  every  thing,  and  if 
Wallenstein  indulges  in  any  humors  of  his 
own,  the  count  knows  how  to  keep  him  in  or- 
der, by  gentle  means  and  by  others  too.  He 
has  his  eye  every  way,  I  say,  and  long  hands, 
and  if  he  has  made  up  his  mind,  as  he  has 
made  it  up,  and  justly,  like  a  great  politician 
as  he  is,  that  the  Duke  of  Nevers  shall  not 
plant  his  roots  in  Mantua,  the  Duke  of  Nevers 
shall  not  plant  them  there,  and  Cardinal  Riche- 
lieu is  boring  a  hole  in  the  water.  It  makes 
me  laugh,  the  very  idea  of  that  dear  good  car- 
dinal wanting  to  try  his  horns,  and  butt  with  a 
Count  Duke,  with  an  Olivares.  I  say  I  should 
like  mightily  to  come  back  here  two  hundred 
years  hence,  to  see  what  posterity  will  say  at  i  drink.  All  the  guests  broke  out  in  praise  of 


a  pretension  of  this  kind.  There  must  be 
something  more  than  envy,  there  must  be  a 
little  brains  at  work,  and  as  to  heads  like  that 
of  the  Count  Duke,  there  is  but  one  in  this 
world.  The  Count  Duke,  gentlemen,"  went 
on  the  podesta,  always  with  a  fair  wind,  and  a 
little  astonished  himself  that  he  had  found  no 
rocks  in  the  way,  "  the  Count  Duke  is  an  old 
fox,  speaking  with  all  respect,  who  would 
throw  any  body  out,  let  him  be  whom  he  may, 
and  when  he  feigns  to  tike  the  right,  if  you 
want  to  find  him  you  must  take  the  left; 
whence  it  is  that  no  one  can  ever  boast  of 
knowing  his  designs,  and  even  those  who  are 
to  execute  them,  those  even  who  write  his  des- 
patches, don't  comprehend  them.  I  can  speak 
with  some  information  ;  for  that  excellent  per- 
son the  Signor  Castellan  has  the  complaisance 
to  admit  me  into  his  confidence.  The  Count 
Duke,  on  the  other  hand,  knows  to  a  point, 
what  is  boiling  in  the  pot  at  all  the  other 
courts,  and  all  those  long-headed  politicians, 
and  it  cannot  be  denied  there  are  a  good  many 
of  them,  have  scarce  formed  some  scheme,  than 
he  has  immediately  got  to  the  bottom  of  it 
with  that  head  of  his,  by  his  covered  ways 
and  the  wires  that  he  has  fixed  in  every  di- 
rection. That  poor  man,  Cardinal  Richelieu, 
tries  here,  smells  there,  sweats,  puts  his  brains 
to  the  stretch,  and  what  then  ?  Why,  when 
he  has  got  his  mine  dug  out,  he  finds  the  coun- 
termine of  the  Count  Duke  already  pre- 
pared." 

Heaven  knows  when  the  podesta  would 
have  descended  to  the  earth  again,  but  Don 
Rodrigo,  himself  a  little  moved  oy  the  grima- 
ces his  cousin  was  making,  made  signs  to  a 
servant  to  bring  a  certain  flask. 

"  Signor  podesta,"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  "and 
gentlemen,  a  bumper  if  you  please,  to  the 
Count  Duke,  and  afterwards  you  will  tell  me, 
if  the  wine  is  worthy  of  the  personage."  The 
podesta  bowed,  and  in  that  bow  endeavored  to 
convey  a  sentiment  of  particular  gratitude  :  for 
every  thing  which  was  done  or  said  in  honor 
of  the  Count  Duke,  was,  in'part,  appropriated 
to  his  own  account. 

"  Viva,  a  thousand  years,  Don  Caspar  Guz- 
man, Count  of  Olivares,  Duke  of  San  Lu- 
car,  the  confident  and  favorite  of  the  King  Don 
Philip  the  great,  our  master!"  exclaimed  he, 
raising  his  glass. 

'  Viva,  a  thousand  years !"  answered  all. 
'  Help  the  father,"  said  Don  Rodrigo. 

1  Pardon  me,"  answered  he,  "  I  have  alrea- 
dy committed  an  irregularity,  and  I  could 

not " 

How!"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  "It  is  the 
health  of  the  Count  Duke  we  are  drinking. 
Will  you  have  us  think  that  you  incline  to  the 
Navarese  ?"  The  partisans  of  the  French  were 
thus  denominated,  and  the  term  probably  took 
its  rise  when  Henry  IV,  of  Navarre,  was 
contending  for  the  throne  of  France,  and  was, 
by  his  adversaries,  called  the  Navarese. 

At  such  an  adjuration  it  was  necessary  to 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


33 


the  wine,  except  the  doctor,  who,  with  the 
lifting  up  of  his  head,  the  stretching  of  his  ears, 
and  the  compressing  of  his  lips,  said,  without 
speaking,  more  than  any  other. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it,  eh,  doctor  ?"  ask- 
«d  Don  Rodrigo. 

Drawing  a  nose  out  of  the  glass,  more  ruddy 
and  shining  than  the  glass  itself,  the  doctor  re- 
plied, emphasizing  every  syllable,  "  I  say,  I 
declare,  and  I  give  sentence,  that  this  is  the 
Olivares  of  wines ;  censui,  -et  in  earn  wi  senten- 
tiam,  that  a  wine  like  it  is  not  to  be  found  in 
the  twenty -two  kingdoms  of  the  king  our  mas- 
ter, whom  God  preserve.  I  pronounce  and  de- 
fine, that  the  dinners  of  the  illustrious  Signor 
Don  Rodrigo  surpass  the  suppers  of  Helioga- 
balus,  and  that  famine  is  banished  and  driven 
for  ever  from  this  palace,  the  seat  and  reign  of 
splendor." 

"Well  said,  well  decided!"  cried  out  the 
whole  chorus  of  guests,  but  the  word  "  famine," 
which  he  had  accidentally  let  slip,  turned  at 
once  all  their  minds  to  that  sorrowful  topic, 
and  all  began  to  talk  of  famine.  Here  they 
were  all  of  one  opinion,  but  the  noise  was 
greater  than  if  they  had  differed,  all  spoke  at 
once,  "  There  is  no  scarcity,"  said  one,  "  it  is 

the  monopolizers  who " 

"  And  the  bakers,"  said  another,  "  who  con- 
ceal the  grain  ;  they  should  be  hanged." 

"  That's  right ;  they  should  be  hanged  with  • 
out  mercy." 

"  After  a  few  good  trials,"  cried  out  the  po- 
desta. 

"  What  trials  ?"  bawled  out,  still  louder, 
Count  Attilio.  "  Summary  jastice.  Take 
three  or  four,  or  five  or  six,  who  are  known 
to  be  the  wealthiest,  and  the  greatest  extor- 
tioners, and  hang  them." 

"  Examples,  Examples,  '  without  exam- 
ples you  can  do  nothing.'  Hang  them,  hang 
them,  and  grain  will  come  in  from  every  quar- 
ter," 

Whoever,  passing  through  a  country  fair, 
has  enjoyed  the  harmony  of  a  crew  of  itine- 
rant musicians,  wh$  between  their  perfor- 
mances, when  each  tunes  his  instrument, 
making  it  scream  as  loud  as  he  can,  the  bet- 
ter to  hear  it  amidst  the  clamor  of  the  others, 
may  figure  to  himself  what  sort  of  accord 
these  men  produced  by  such,  if  so  it  can  be 
called,  conversation.  In  the  mean  time  the 
wine  kept  circulating,  and  its  praises,  as  was 
just  and  right,  alternated  with  sentences  of 
economical  jurisprudence,  so  that  the  most 
sonorous  and  frequent  words  were,  "ambro- 
sia" and  "  hang  them." 

Don  Rodrigo  cast  a  look  from  time  to  time 
at  the  friar,  and  observed  that  he  preserved 
the  same  firm  position,  without  giving  the 
least  sign  of  impatience  or  haste,  or  without 
doing  the  least  act  that  tended  to  remind  the 
others,  that  he  was  there  waiting  for  any 
thine,  but  evidently  meaning  to  be  heard  be- 
fore ne  went  away.  He  would  willingly  have 
dismissed  him,  and  that  without  ceremony, 
but  to  turn  away  a  capuchin  without  giving 


him  audience  was  not  a  part  of  his  policy. 
Since  it  was  not  practicable  to  get  out  of  the 
way  of  this  annoyance,  he  determined  to  face 
it,  and  to  free  hiimelf  from  it :  he  therefore 
rose  from  table,  and  with  him  the  whole  ruby- 
faced  troop,  whilst  the  clamor  was  still 
flourishing.  Having  apologized  to  his  guests, 
he  drew  near  to  the  friar,  who  had  also  risen 
with  the  rest,  with  a  somewhat  proud  and 
reserved  air,  and  said  to  him,  "  I  am  at  your 
orders,  father,"  and  conducted  him  into  ano- 
ther room. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"In  what  can  I  be  of  service  to  you?" 
"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  stopping  in  the  centre  of 
the  room.  The  friar  heard  these  words,  but 
he  felt,  from  the  tone  in  which  they  were  ut- 
tered, that  they  unequivocally  meant,  remem- 
ber in  whose  presence  you  are  :  weigh  your 
words  well  and  make  haste. 

There  was  not  a  surer  or  more  speedy 
method  of  raising  up  the  courage  of  our 
father  Christopher,  than  by  addressing  him  in 
an  arrogant  way.  He  who  was  standing  in 
suspense,  seeking  for  words,  and  running  be- 
tween his  fingers  the  beads  of  the  rosary  at 
his  waist,  as  if  he  should  find  his  exordium  in 
one  of  them,  at  that  haughty  look  and  tone, 
felt  the  words  rushing  to  his  lips  faster  than 
he  had  occasion  for  them.  But  immediately 
reflecting  how  important  it  was  not  to  injure 
his  affairs,  and  wnat  was  of  greater  conse- 
quence, those  of  others,  by  precipitancy,  he 
chastened  and  tempered  the  expressions  which 
presented  themselves  to  his  mind,  and  answer- 
ed with  a  circumspect  humility,  "  I  come  here 
to  propose  to  you  an  act  of  justice,  and  to 
supplicate  chanty  at  your  hand.  Some  per- 
sons of  indifferent  respect  with  the  world, 
have  made  use  of  your  illustrious  name,  to 
intimidate  a  poor  curate,  to  prevent  him 
from  fulfilling  his  duty,  that  they  may  trample 
upon  two  innocent  young  people.  With  one 
word  you  can  confound  these  men,  replace  eve- 
ry thing  in  its  former  state,  and  protect  those  to 
whom  so  great  an  injury  has  been  done.  This 
is  in  your  power,  and  that  being  so,  con- 
science, honor " 

"  You  can  talk  to  me  about  my  conscience, 
when  I  shall  think  proper  to  ask  for  your  opi- 
nion. As  to  my  honor,  it  seems  you  have  to 
learn  that  I  am  its  guardian,  I  alone;  and 
whoever  dares  to  busy  himself  with  dividing 
that  charge  with  me,  I  regard  him  as  a  rash 
man  who  insults  me." 

Brother  Christopher,  aware  by  these  words 
that  Don  Rodrigo  would  purposely  put  the 
worst  construction  on  his  words,  in  order  to 
turn  the  conversation  into  a  dispute,  and  thus 
prevent  him  from  coming  to  the  point,  deter- 
mined still  more  to  be  on  his  guard,  and  to 
submit  quietly  to  any  thing  that  might  be  said 


31 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


to  him ;  he  therefore  with  a  subdued  tone  re- 
plied, "  If  I  have  said  any  thing  that  is  dis- 
pleasing to  you,  certainly  it  has  been  contrary 
to  all  ray  intentions.  Correct  me,  reprehend 
me,  if  I  do  not  know  how  to  speak  as  becomes 
me  to  do,  but  deign  to  listen  to  me.  For  the 
love  of  Heaven,  for  his  sake  before  whom  we 
must  all  appear."  Saying  this,  he  lifted 
before  the  eyes  of  his  frowning  auditor  the 
small  wooden  skull  pending  from  his  rosary, 
"  Do  not  persist  in  refusing  a  justice  so  easy, 
and  so  much  due  to  the  poor  creatures.  Re- 
flect that  God  has  his  eyes  always  upon  them, 
and  that  their  imprecations  are  listened  to  by 
him  above.  Innocence  is  powerful  in  his 

"  Father,"  rudely  interrupted  Don  Rodrigo, 
"  the  respect  I  bear  to  your  nabit  is  great,  but 
if  any  thing  could  induce  me  to  forget  it,  it 
would  be  the  sight  of  it  on  one  who  should  be 
bold  enough  to  act  the  spy  in  my  own  house." 

These  words  brought  the  color  into  the 
cheeks  of  the  friar,  but  with  the  air  of  a  man 
who  swallows  the  bitterest  medicine,  he  an- 
answered.  "  You  do  not  believe  that  such  a 
term  belongs  to  me.  You  feel  in  you  heart 
that  the  act  in  which  I  am  now  engaged,  is 
not  vile  nor  to  be  despised.  Hear  me,  Don 
Rodrigo,  and  may  Heaven  grant  that  the  day 
may  not  come  when  you  repent  that  you 
have  not  listened  to  me.  I  will  not  set  up 
your  glory.  What  glory,  Don  Rodrigo !  what 
glory  oefore  men  and  before  God !  You  are 
powerful  in  this  world,  but " 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  inter- 
rupting him  with  anger,  not  altogether  unmix- 
ed with  apprehension.  "  Do  you  know  that 
when  the  whim  seizes  me  to  hear  a  sermon, 
I  know  how  to  go  to  church  as  well  as  others  ? 
But  in  my  own  house !  oh !"  and  with  a  forced 
contemptuous  smile  he  added,  "  you  are  tak- 
ing me  for  a  greater  personage  than  I  am.  A 
preacher  in  my  establishment!  None  but 
princes  have  them." 

"  And  that  God  who  asks  of  princes  an  ac- 
count of  that  word  which  he  makes  them 
hear  in  their  palaces,  that  God  who  does  an 
act  of  mercy  to  you  in  sending  one  of  his 
ministers — unworthy  and  miserable,  but  yet 
his  minister — to  pray  for  an  innocent " 

"  In  short,  father,"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  mak- 
ing a  motion  to  leave  the  room,  "  I  do  not 
comprehend  what  you  mean  ;  all  I  can  make 
out  is,  that  there  is  some  young  girl  you  take 
an  interest  in.  Go  and  tell  your  secrets  to 
whom  you  like,  but  do  not  have  the  assurance 
to  annoy  further  a  gentleman  with  them." 

At  the  movement  of  Don  Rodrigo,  the  friar 
also  moved,  and  placing  hiinselt  reverently 
before  him,  and  raising  his  hands  as  if  to  sup- 
plicate and  detain  him,  he  replied,  "  that  I 
take  an  interest  in  her,  it  is  true,  but  not  a 
greater  than  I  take  in  yourself;  your  two 
souls  are  more  precious  to  me  than  my  own 
blood.  Don  Rodrigo !  for  you  I  can  do  no 
more  than  offer  up  my  prayers,  but  this  I 
will  do  from  my  heart.  Do  not  say  no  to 
me ;  let  not  that  poor  innocent  girl  be  kept  in 


terror  and  anguish.  One  word  from  you  will 
be  sufficient." 

"Well,"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  "since  you 
think  I  can  do  so  much  for  mis  person,  since 
you  have  her  so  much  at  heart — " 

"  Well ! "  anxiously  exclaimed  the  friar,  to 
whom  the  action  and  manner  of  Don  Rodrigo, 
did  not  permit  him  to  abandon  himself  alto- 
gether to  the  hope  that  these  words  seemed  to 
inspire." 

"  Well,  advise  her  to  come  and  put  herself 
under  my  protection.  She  shafl  want  for 
nothing,  and  no  one  shall  dare  to  give  her  any 
trouble,  or  I  am  not  a  cavalier." 

At  such  a  proposition,  the  repressed  indig- 
nation of  the  triai-,  which  had  struggled  within 
him,  broke  loose.  All  his  fine  resolutions 
about  prudence  and  patience,  vanished :  the 
old  man  was  perfectly  in  accord  with  the  new 
one,  and  upon  such  emergencies  brother  Chris- 
topher was  really  worth  two.  "  Your  protec- 
tion !"  he  exclaimed,  retreating  two  paces, 
fixing  himself  fiercely  upon  his  right  foot,  his 
right  hand  resting  upon  his  hip,  raising  his  left 
with  the  forefinger  extended  towards  Don 
Rodrigo,  and  fixing  in  his  face  two  eyes  of 
fire,  "  Your  protection  !  It  is  well  you  have 
spoken  thus,  that  you  have  made  such  a  propo- 
sition to  me.  You  have  filled  the  measure,  and 
I  fear  you  no  more." 

"  What  language  is  this,  friar  ?" 

"  It  is  the  language  of  a  man  which  he  ad- 
dresses to  one  who  is  abandoned  by  God,  and 
can  inspire  fear  no  longer.  Your  protection ! 
I  knew  well  that  the  innocent  creature  lived 
under  the  protection  of  God ;  but  you,  you 
make  me  feel  it  with  so  much  certainty,  that 
I  no  longer  need  measure,  by  deference  to  your 
what  I  nave  to  say.  Lucia,  I  say ;  see  with 
what  a  lofty  front  I  pronounce  that  name,  and 
with  what  immoveable  eyes — " 

"  How !  in  this  house  i" 

"  I  have  compassion  upon  this  house ;  a 
curse  is  suspended  over  it.  You  expect  that  the 
justice  of  God  will  respect  its  four  walls,  and 
they  contain  bandits !  You  have  believed  that 
God  has  made  a  creature  after  his  own  image,to 
give  you  the  pleasure  of  tormenting  her !  You 
have  believea  that  God  would  not  know  how  to 
defend  her !  You  have  despised  his  counsel  1 
You  have  pronounced  judgment  on  yourself. 
The  heart  of  Pharoah  was  Hardened  as  much 
as  yours,  and  yet  God  has  known  how  to  break 
it  in  pieces.  Lucia  is  secure  from  you ;  I  tell 
you  so!  I,  a  poor  friar;  and  as  to  yourself, 
near  distinctly  what  I  promise  to  you.  A  day 
will  come " 

Don  Rodrigo  up  to  this  moment  had  remain- 
ed in  a  state  of  astonishment  and  rage,  not 
being  able  to  utter  a  word,  but  when  he  heard 
the  intonation  of  a  prediction,  a  remote  and 
mysterious  dread  was  associated  with  his  an- 
ger. He  grasped  suddenly  the  menacing  hand 
that  was  in  the  air,  and  raising  his  voice  to 
overpower  that  of  the  fatal  prophet,  cried  out, 
"  Begone  from  my  presence,  audacious  rustic, 
idle  cowl  bearing " 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


35 


These  words,  so  very  precise,  tamed  father 
Christopher  in  a  moment.  To  the  idea  of  in- 
sult and  abuse,  that  of  suffering  and  of  silence 
had  been  so  thoroughly  and  for  so  long  a  pe- 
riod associated  in  his  mind,  that  at  the  very 
hearing  of  these  compliments,  every  spark  of 
anger  and  enthusiasm  vanished,  and  no  other 
resolution  remained,  save  that  of  tranquilly 
listening  to  every  thing  Don  Rodrigo  might 
please  to  add.  Wherefore,  having  quietly 
withdrawn  his  hand  from  the  grasp  of  the 
cavalier,  he  drooped  his  head,  and  remained 
immovable ;  just  as  an  ancient  tree,  at  the 
sinking  of  the  wind,  after  the  fury  of  the  hurri- 
cane, recomposes  naturally  its  leaves,  and  re- 
ceives the  hail  as  it  pleases  Heaven  to  send  it. 

"Thou  doubly  coarse  peasant!"  pursued 
Don  Rodrigo,  "thou  actest  like  one  of  thy  kind. 
But  give  thanks  to  the  stuff  that  covers  thy 
beggar's  shoulders,  and  which  protects  thee 
from  the  caresses  which  are  given  to  thy 
equals,  to  teach  them  how  to  behave.  Let  thy 
limbs  take  thee  away  for  this  time,  and  let  me 
see  thee  depart." 

Thus  saying,  he  pointed  with  imperious 
contempt,  to  a  door  opposite  to  that  by  which 
they  entered ;  father  Christopher  lowered  his 
head,  and  went  out,  leaving  Don  Rodrigo  to 
measure,  with  agitated  steps,  the  field  of  bat- 
tle. 

When  the  friar  had  closed  the  door  behind 
him,  be  saw  in  the  room  where  he  now  was,  a 
man  gliding  gently  along  the  wall,  so  as  not 
to  be  seen  from  the  room  where  this  colloquy 
was  held,  and  recognized  in  him  the  old  ser- 
vant who  had  received  him  on  his  arrival  at 
the  house.  He  had  lived  here  forty  years,  that 
is  from  the  year  of  Don  Rodrigo 's  birth,  being 
then  in  the  service  of  his  father,  a  man  of 
very  different  habits  and  character.  At  his 
death,  the  new  master,  dismissing  all  the  old 
establishment,  and  getting  a  new  set  together, 
had  nevertheless  retained  this  man,  who,  al- 
though old,  and  brought  up  in  habits  and  tastes 
very  different  from  his  own,  compensated  for 
their  deficiency  by  two  qualities  :  a  prodigious 
conceit  of  the  dignity  of  the  house,  and  ex- 
tensive practical  knowledge  of  ceremonial 
etiquette,  a  branch,  the  most  ancient  tradi- 
tions, and  the  most  minute  particulars  of 
•which,  he  was  better  acquainted  with  than  any 
other.  To  his  master's  face,  the  poor  old  man 
would  not  have  dared  to  risk  any  sign,  much 
less  to  express,  his  disapprobation  of  what  he 
saw  taking  place  every  day :  scarce  did  he 
hazard  an  observation,  or  mutter  out  a  reproof 
to  his  fellow-servants,  than  they  turned  it  into 
a  joke,  and  drawing  him  into  a  dispute,  pro- 
voked him  into  long  sermons,  and  eulogiums 
upon  the  ancient  manner  of  living  under  that 
roof.  His  censures  when  they  came  to  the 
ears  of  his  master  were  always  accompanied 
with  a  relation  of  the  laughs  raised  against 
the  old  man,  so  that  the  mockery  they  excited 
was  without  resentment.  On  days  of  invita- 
tion and  reception,  the  ancient  servant  was  a 
personage  of  serious  and  great  importance. 


Father  Christopher  gave  him  a  look  in  pas- 
sing, saluted  him,  and  went  on ;  but  the  old 
man  drew  to  his  side  mysteriously,  placed  his 
finger  on  his  mouth,  and  beckoned  him  to  ac- 
company him  into  an  obscure  passage.  When 
they  were  there,  he  said  to  him,  in  an  under 
voice,  "  Father,  I  have  heard  it  all,  and  I 
must  speak  with  you." 

"Good  man,  speak  at  once." 

"  Not  here.  Wo,  if  the  master  should  per- 
ceive. But  I  shall  find  many  things  out,  and 
I  will  endeavor  tomorrow  to  come  to  the  con- 
vent." 

"  Is  there  any  plan  on  foot  ?" 

"  There  is  something  or  other  going  on  cer- 
tainly, I  have  already  perceived  that.  But 
now  I  will  be  on  the  alert,  and  will  find  it  all 
out.  Leave  me  to  act.  I  can  see  and  hear 

things — things  of  fire  !    I  am  in  a  house ! 

But  I  would  save  my  soul," 

"  May  God  bless  you  ! "  and  gently  uttering 
these  words,  the  friar  placed  his  hand  upon 
the  head  of  the  servant,  who  although  older 
than  himself,  stood  bent  before  him  in  the  atti- 
tude of  a  son.  "  God  will  reward  you,"  pur- 
sued the  friar,  "  do  not  fail  to  come  tomor- 
row." 

"  I  will  come,"  replied  he,  "  but  depart  im- 
mediately, and,  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  do 
not  betray  me."  Saying  this,  and  looking 
around,  he  went  out  by  the  other  end  of  the 
passage,  into  a  little  hafl  that  led  to  the  court 
yard,  and  seeing  the  way  free,  he  called  the 
good  friar  out,  whose  countenance  gave  to  his 
last  words,  a  better  assurance  of  fidelity  than 
protestations  could  have  done.  The  old  man 
pointed  out  the  gate  to  him,  and  the  friar  took 
his  departure. 

That  servant  had  been  listening  at  the  door 
of  his  master.  Was  that  well  done  ?  And  did 
father  Christopher  act  right  in  praising  him  ? 
According  to  universally  received  maxims,  the 
act  was  a  very  dishonest  one  ;  but  ought  not 
this  case  to  be  considered  as  an  exception. 
And  next,  are  there  any  exceptions  to  be  made 
to  these  maxims  ? 

These  are  questions  the  reader  must  decide 
for  himself  if  he  likes.  We  do  not  intend  to 
give  any  decision,  it  suffices  us  to  have  facts 
to  relate. 

Once  more  on  the  road,  and  his  back  turn- 
ed upon  that  den,  brother  Christopher  breathed 
more  freely,  and  he  hastened  down  the  de- 
scent, his  face  flushed,  agitated,  and  disturbed, 
as  may  well  be  imagined,  by  what  he  had 
heard,  and  by  what  he  had  himself  said.  But 
this  unexpected  offer  on  the  part  of  the  ser- 
vant, was  a  great  cordial  to  him ;  it  seemed 
as  if  Heaven  held  out  a  visible  sign  of  protec- 
tion. Here  is  a  thread,  thought  he — a  thread, 
which  Providence  puts  into  my  hand.  And  in 
that  very  house  itself!  and  without  my  even 
dreaming  to  look  for  it !  Thus  ruminating, 
he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  west  as  the  declining 
sun  was  hovering  upon  the  summit  of  the 
mountain,  and  reflected  that  the  day  was  al- 
most spent.  Although  his  limba  began  to  be 


36 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


wearied  and  dull,  with  the  unusual  fatigues  of 
the  day,  he  quickened  his  pace,  that  he  might 
give  such  information  as  he  possessed  to  those 
under  his  protection,  and  reach  the  convent 
before  night.  This  was  one  of  their  most  ab- 
solute laws,  and  rigorously  insisted  upon  in 
the  capuchin  code. 

In  the  mean  time  in  the  cottage  of  Lucia 
some  plans  had  been  brought  forward  and  ex- 
amined, of  which  we  must  give  the  reader  in- 
formation. After  the  departure  of  the  friar,  the 
three  persons  he  had  left  behind,  had  preser- 
ved silence  for  some  time.  Lucia  sorrowfully 
preparing  the  dinner ;  Renzo,  between  them 
both,  moving  himself  away  every  instant  to 
avoid  contemplating  her  in  her  distress ;  Agnes 
to  all  appearance  intent  upon  the  reel  she  was 
turning,  though  in  reality  she  was  maturing  a 
thought,  and  when  it  was  ready  she  broke 
silence  in  these  terms  : 

"  Listen,  children !  If  you  will  be  courage- 
ous and  dexterous  at  the  proper  time,  if  you 
confide  in  your  mother,"  that  word  your,  made 
Lucia  jump,  "  I  engage  to  get  you  out  of  this 
difficulty,  better  perhaps  and  quicker  than  fa- 
ther Christopher,  although  he  is  the  man  that 
he  is."  Lucia  stopped,  and  looked  at  her 
with  a  countenance  expressive  of  more  sur- 
prise than  faith  at  such  a  magnificent  promise, 
and  Renzo  hastily  said,  "  Courage  ?  dexteri- 
ty ?  speak,  what  can  be  done  ?" 

"  Is'nt  it  true,  that  if  you  were  married  it 
would  be  one  great  point  gained  ?  And  that 
for  the  rest  a  remedy  could  be  more  easily 
found?" 

"Can  there  be  any  doubt?"  said  Renzo, 
"  once  married — all  the  world  is  a  country,  and 
two  steps  from  here,  there  at  Bergamo,  any 
one  who  can  work  at  silk  is  received  with 
open  arms.  You  know  how  often  my  cousin 
Bartolo  has  asked  me  to  go  and  live  with  him, 
that  I  should  make  my  fortune,  as  he  has  done, 
and  if  I  have  never  listened  to  him,  it  is — what 
signifies  ?  It  is  because  my  heart  was  here. 
Once  married,  we  could  all  go  together,  have 
a  house  there,  live  in  blessed  peace,  out  of  the 
claws  of  this  monster,  far  from  the  temptation 
to  act  foolishly.  Is  it  not  true,  Lucia  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lucia,  "  but  how ?" 

"  As  I  have  said,"  continued  Agnes, "  cour- 
age and  address,  and  the  thing  is  easy." 

"  Easy,"  both  exclaimed  at  the  same  time, 
to  whom  the  affair  had  become  so  strangely 
and  so  painfully  difficult. 

"  Easy,  knowing  how  to  do  it,"  replied  Ag- 
nes. "  Hear  me,  and  I  will  try  to  make  you  un- 
derstand. I  have  heard  said  by  those  who 
know,  and  indeed  one  case  I  have  seen,  that 
where  there  is  a  marriage  there  must  be  a  cu- 
rate, but  it  is  not  necessary  he  should  consent 
to  it,  it  is  only  necessary  he  should  be  pre- 
sent." 

"  How  is  this  matter?"  asked  Renzo. 

"  Listen,  and  you  will  find  out.  There  must 
be  two  witnesses,  both  of  them  sharp  and 
agreeing  together.  Away  you  go  to  the  pa- 
riah priest,  the  thing  is  to  catch  him  unexpect- 


edly, before  he  has  time  to  escape.  The  man 
says,  'signer  curate,  this  is  my  wife ;'  the  wo- 
man says, '  signer  curate,  this  is  my  husband.' 
But  the  curate  must  hear  this,  and  the  witness- 
es must  hear  it,  and  then  the  marriage  is  as 
good  and  as  conclusive,  and  as  holy  as  if  the 
pope  had  blessed  it.  When  the  words  are 
said,  the  curate  may  storm,  and  scold,  and  go 
on  like  the  devil — it  amounts  to  nothing ;  you 
are  then  husband  and  wife." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?"  exclaimed  Lucia. 

"  How !"  said  Agnes,  "  do  you  think  that  in 
the  thirty  years  I  have  been  in  this  world  be- 
fore you  both,  I  have  learnt  nothing  at  all  ? 
The  matter  is  just  as  I  have  said  it,  and  so 
true  it  is,  that  a  friend  of  mine  that  wanted  to 
marry  a  man  against  the  will  of  her  parents, 
making  use  of  this  method,  obtained  her  wish- 
es. The  curate,  who  had  some  suspicion,  was 
on  the  alert,  but  the  two  devils  did  it  so  neatly, 
that  they  came  upon  him  in  the  very  nick  of 
time,  said  the  words,  and  were  husband  and 
wife ;  although  the  poor  thing  repented  of  it 
three  days  after." 

The  affair,  in  fact,  was  as  Agnes  had  repre- 
sented it ;  marriages  contracted  in  that  man- 
ner, were  at  that  period,  and  even  down  to 
our  own  days,  held  to  be  valid.  But  as  no  one 
had  recurrence  to  such  an  expedient,  but  who 
had  met  with  a  refusal  to  have  the  ceremony 
performed  in  the  ordinary  way,  the  parish 
priests  were  very  careful  to  get  out  of  the  way 
of  these  involuntary  sanctions,  and  when  any 
of  them  was  surprised  by  a  couple  accompa- 
nied with  witnesses,  they  tried  every  expe- 
dient to  get  away  from  them,  as  Proteus  did 
from  the  hands  of  those  who  wanted  to  make 
him  prophecy  by  force. 

"  If  it  was  true,  Lucia!"  said  Renzo,  look- 
ing at  her  with  a  face  of  supplicating  expecta- 
tion. 

"How!  if  it  was  true  !"  returned  Agnes, 
"  do  you  think  I  am  telling  idle  stories.  Here 
I  am,  in  a  peck  of  troubles  on  your  account, 
and  you  won't  believe  me.  Well,  well,  get 
out  of  your  own  difficulties  after  your  own 
method ;  I  wash  my  hands  of  them. 

"  Ah,  no !  do  not  abandon  us,"  said  Renzo. 
"  I  say  so  because  the  thing  appears  to  me  too 
good.  I  am  in  your  hands,  I  look  upon  you 
as  if  you  was  my  own  mother  in  truth." 

These  words  dissipated  the  vexation  of 
Agnes,  and  made  her  forget  an  exclamation, 
which,  in  truth,  meant  nothing  at  all. 

"  But  why,  then,  mamma,"  said  Lucia,  with 
her  submissive  manner,  "  why  did  not  this 
plan  come  into  the  head  of  father  Christo- 
pher?" 

"Into  his  head?"  answered  Agnes;  "just 
think  if  it  did  not  come  into  his  head !  But  he 
would  not  mention  it." 

"  Why  ?"  exclaimed  the  young  people,  both 
at  once. 

"  Why  ?  why,  since  you  will  know  it,  re- 
ligious men  say,  that  truly,  it  is  not  right  of 
itself." 

"  How  can  it  be  that  it  ia  not  right,  and  yet 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


37 


be  good  and  conclusive,  when  it  is  done  ?" 
said  Renzo. 

"  What  is  it  you  want  me  to  say  to  you  ?" 
replied  Agnes.  "  Others  have  made  the  law 
just  as  they  pleased,  and  we  poor  people  can't 
understand  every  thing.  And  then  how  many 
things — see  !  it's  like  giving  a  blow  to  a  Chris- 
tian ;  that  is  not  right,  but  when  once  he  has 
got  it,  the  pope  himself  can't  take  it  away 
again." 

"  If  it  is  a  tiling  that  is  not  right  in  itself," 
said  Lucia,  "  it  ought  not  to  be  done." 

"What! "said  Agnes,  "ami  the  person, 
perhaps,  to  give  you  an  opinion  against  the 
tear  of  God  ?  If  it  was  against  the  will  of  thy 
parents,  to  take  up  with  some  dissolute  fellow ; 
but  content  me,  it  is  to  be  united  with  this 
good  lad ;  and  he  who  makes  the  disturbance 
is  a  scoundrel,  and  the  curate — — " 

"  It  is  as  clear  as  the  sun,"  said  Renzo. 

"  You  must  not  tell  father  Christopher,  be- 
fore you  do  it,"  pursued  Agnes,  "  but  when 
it  is  done,  and  has  succeeded,  what  do  you 
think  the  good  father  will  say  to  you  ?  'Ah, 
daughter !  this  is  a  strange  prank  you  have 
played  off.'  The  religious  men  always  talk 
so.  But,  in  his  heart,  you  may  be  quite  sure 
he  will  be  content." 

Lucia,  without  finding  any  thing  to  answer 
to  this  reasoning,  did  not  appear,  however, 
much  convinced  by  it;  but  Renzo,  quite  re- 
novated, said,  "  This  being  the  case,  the  thing 
is  concluded  upon." 

"  Softly,"  said  Agnes,  "  and  the  witnesses  ? 
and  the  means  to  surprise  the  curate,  who  for 
these  last  two  days  is  hid  away  in  his  house  ? 
And  how  to  keep  him  there  ?  For  although  he 
is  clumsy  by  nature,  I  can  tell  you  when  he 
sees  you  coming  in  that  fashion,  you  will  find 
him  as  nimble  as  a  cat ;  and  he  will  run  off 
as  fast  as  the  devil  would  from  holy  water." 

"  I  have  found  the  means — I  have  found  it," 
said  Renzo,  thumping  his  fist  on  the  table,  and 
making  the  little  dishes  dance  again,  that  were 
to  serve  for  the  dinner ;  and  then  went  on  ex- 
plaining his  idea,  which  Agnes  approved  in 
every  particular. 

"  These  are  wild  notions,"  said  Lucia, "  and 
things  are  not  at  all  clear.  We  have  acted 
until  now  with  sincerity ;  let  us  go  on  in  good 
faith,  and  God  will  help  us  :  father  Christopher 
has  said  so.  Let  us  hear  his  opinion." 

"  Be  governed  by  those  who  know,"  said 
Agnes,  with  a  grave  countenance.  "  What 
occasion  is  there  to  ask  opinions  ?  God  says, 
'  help  yourself,  and  I  will  help  you.'  We 
can  tell  the  father  every  thing,  when  it  is  all 
over." 

"  Lucia,"  said  Renzo,  "  will  you  fail  me 
now?  Have  not  we  done  every  thing,  like 
good  Christians  ?  Ought  not  we  to  have  been 
husband  and  wife  ?  Did  not  the  curate,  him- 
self, fix  the  day,  and  the  hour  ?  And  whose 
fault  is  it  if  we  are  now  obliged  to  use  a  little 
management  ?  No.  you  will  not  fail  me.  I 
am  going,  and  I  will  return  with  the  answer." 
And,  saluting  Lucia  in  a  supplicating  manner, 


and  Agnes  with  a  look  of  intelligence,  he  de- 
parted in  haste. 

Trouble,  it  is  said,  gives  a  spur  to  inven- 
tion ;  and  Renzo,  who  in  the  straight  and 
smooth  path  of  life  trod  by  him  until  now,  had 
never  found  himself  obliged  much  to  sharpen 
his  own,  upon  this  occasion  had  conceived 
something  worthy  of  a  juris  consult.  He  went 
immediately,  in  furtherance  of  his  plan,  to 
the  cottage,  nigh  at  hand,  of  one  Tonio.  Him 
he  found  in  the  kitchen,  his  knee  resting  upon 
a  little  bench  on  the  hearth,  his  right  hand 
upon  the  brim  of  a  pot  placed  on  the  hot 
ashes,  and  the  other  mixing  up,  with  a  crooked 
pestle,  a  small  gray  mess  of  buckwheat  pud- 
ding. Tonic's  mother,  brother,  and  wife  were 
seated  at  the  table,  and  three  or  four  children 
standing  round  it,  watching,  with  their  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  pot,  the  moment  when  the  pud- 
ding was  to  be  turned  out.  But  all  that  cheer- 
fulness which  the  near  prospect  of  dinner  gives 
to  those  who  have  earned  it  by  labor  was 
wanting.  The  aggregate  of  the  dish  was  pro- 
portioned to  the  scarcity  which  prevailed,  and 
not  to  the  number  and  Keen  inclinations  of  the 
guests  ;  for  each  of  them  giving  a  side  look  of 
disappointed  welcome  to  the  common  re- 
source, seemed  to  be  occupied  with  the  amount 
of  appetite  that  would  survive  it.  Whilst 
Renzo  was  exchanging  salutes  with  the  fami- 
ly, Tonio  turned  out  the  mess  upon  a  beachen. 
platter,  placed  on  the  table  to  receive  it,  and 
which  looked  like  a  small  moon  in  the  centre 
of  a  great  circle  of  vapor.  Nevertheless,  the 
women  very  courteously  said  to  Renzo,  "  Will 
you  be  helped  ?"  a  compliment  that  the  pea- 
sant of  Lombardy  never  omits  to  offer  to  who- 
ever finds  him  at  his  repast,  even  if  this  last 
should  be  some  rich  glutton  just  risen  from 
table,  and  he  himself  occupied  with  his  last 
mouthful. 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  Renzo,  "  I  only 
came  to  say  a  word  to  Tonio  ;  and  if  you  like, 
Tonio,  so  that  your  women  may  not  be  dis- 
turbed, we  will  go  and  dine  at  the  inn,  and 
talk  there."  The  proposition  was  the  more 
grateful  to  Tonio,  because  unexpected ;  and 
the  women  were  by  no  means  sorry  to  see  one 
of  the  competitors  for  the  pudding,  and  he  the 
most  formidable  of  all,  withdrawn.  Tonio 
waited  for  no  further  invitation,  and  went 
away  with  Renzo. 

Arrived  at  the  village  inn,  and  both  seated 
at  their  ease  in  perfect  solitude,  for  misery 
had  weaned  all  the  frequenters  of  that  place 
of  delights  from  it,  and  having  had  what  little 
matters  that  were  to  be  obtained,  and  emptied 
a  Sask  of  wine,  Renzo,  with  an  air  of  mys- 
tery, said  to  Tonio,  "  If  you  will  do  me  a 
small  service,  I  will  render  you  a  great  one." 

"  Speak,  speak,  command  me  freely,"  an- 
swered Tonio,  pouring  out  some  wine,  "I 
would  go  through  fire  for  you  to  day." 

"You  are  indebted  to  the  curate  twenty- 
five  livres  for  the  rent  of  the  field  you  tilled 
last  year." 

"  Ah !  Renzo,  Renzo,  you  have  spoiled  all 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


your  kindness.    What  a  subject  to  talk  to  m 
about !     You  have  put  down  all  my  desire  to 
serve  you." 

"  If  I  said  any  thing  about  thy  debt,"  saic 
Renzo, "  it  was  because,  if  you  wish  it,  I  intenc 
to  furnish  thee  the  means  of  paying  it." 
"  Dost  thou  speak  in  earnest  ?" 
"  Yes,  I  do.  Eh  !  would  you  like  that  ? 
"  Like  it,  by  Diana  !  I  should  like  it  in- 
deed, if  it  was  only  that  I  might  see  no  more 
of  those  queer  faces  and  shakings  of  the  head, 
that  the  curate  puts  on  every  time  I  meet 
him.  And  then  always,  '  Tonio — remember 
— Tonio !  when  shall  we  see  each  other  about 
that  little  affair. '  And  when  he  is  preaching, 
and  happens  to  cast  his  eye  at  me,  he  always 
makes  me  frightened  lest  he  should  call  out— 
'  I  say,  Tonio,  about  them  twenty-five  livres  ?' 
Curses  on  the  twenty-five  livres,  I  say !  And 
then  he  would  have  to  give  me  back  the  gold 
necklace  belonging  to  my  wife,  which  I  would 
turn  into  so  much  polenta.*  But " 

"  But,  but,  if  you  will  render  me  a  small 
service  the  twenty-five  livres  are  ready  for 
you." 

'•Say  what  it  is." 

"  But,"  said  Renzo,  putting  his  fore  finger 
on  his  lip,  so  as  to  make  the  form  of  a  cross. 

"  What  need  is  there  of  that  ?  You  know 
me." 

"  The  curate  pretends  to  give  certain  rea- 
sons, without  sense  in  them,  to  delay  my  mar- 
riage, and  I  want  to  hasten  it.  They  tell  me, 
for  a  certain,  that  when  a  couple  goes  before 
him  with  two  witnesses,  and  I  saying,  this  is 
my  wife,  and  Lucia  saying,  this  is  my  hus- 
band, the  matrimony  is  done  and  concluded. 
Do  you  understand  me  ?" 

"  You  want  me  to  be  one  of  your  wit- 
nesses?" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  will  pay  the  twenty-five  livres 
forme?" 

"  That  is  what  I  mean." 

"  Call  me  a  rogue  if  I  don't" 

"  But  we  must  find  another  witness." 

"  I  have  got  one.  That  poor  devil  of  a  bro- 
ther of  mine,  Gervaso,  will  do  whatever  I  tell 
him.  You  will  pay  for  something  to  drink 
for  him?" 

"  And  to  eat  too,"  said  Renzo.  "  We'll 
brine  him  here  to  make  merry  with  us ;  but 
will  ne  know  howt?" 

"I'll  teach  him.'  You  know  I  have  got  his 
share  of  brains." 

"Tomorrow!" 

"  Well." 

"  Towards  evening." 

"Very  well." 

"  But !"  said  Renzo,  putting  his  fore  finger 
on  his  lip  again. 

"Poh!"  answered  Tonio,  jerking  his  head 
over  his  left  shoulder,  and  bringing  up  his  left 
hand  with  a  grimace  that  seemed  to  say,  you 
do  me  wrong.  * 


•  A  meM  made  of  Indian  com  meal  or  any  other. 


"  But  if  thy  wife  asks  thee  any  thing,  as  she 
no  doubt  will?" 

"  I  am  in  my  wife's  debt  so  many  lies,  aye, 
and  so  many  of  them,  that  I  don't  know  if 
ever  I  shall  get  the  account  settled  with  her. 
I'll  find  some  fine  story  or  other  to  put  her 
heart  at  ease." 

"Tomorrow,"  said  Renzo,  "we'll  arrange 
the  affair  better,  so  that  it  may  be  well  done." 

They  now  left  the  village  inn,  Tonio  taking 
his  way  home,  and  contriving  on  the  road 
some  story  or  other  to  amuse  his  women  with, 
and  Renzo  retracing  his  steps  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  what  he  had  done. 

In  the  mean  time  Agnes  had  in  vain  endea- 
vored to  persuade  her  daughter,  who,  at  every 
reason  given  her,  opposed  first  one,  then  ano- 
ther part  of  her  dilemma.  Either  the  thing  is 
not  right,  and  then  ought  not  to  be  done  ;  or  it 
is  right,  and  then  why  not  tell  it  to  father 
Christopher  ? 

Renzo  arrived  full  of  satisfaction,  made  his 
report,  and  finished  it  with  an  ahn,  a  Milanese 
interjection,  which  signifies,  am  I  or  am  I  not 
a  man  ?  Could  a  cleverer  be  found  ?  Would 
that  have  come  into  any  body  else's  head?  and 
a  hundred  similar  things. 

Lucia  shook  her  head  gently,  but  the  two 
enthusiasts  paid  little  attention  to  her,  as  peo- 
ple do  with  children  whom  they  do  not  expect 
to  make  understand  the  whole  reason  of  any 
thing,  but  that  may  be  induced  afterwards  by 
entreaties  and  by  authority,  to  do  what  is 
wished  of  them. 

"  So  far,  so  good,"  said  Agnes,  "  so  far  so 
b'ood.  But  you  have  not  thought  of  every 
thing." 

"What  is  wanting,"  answered  Renzo. 

"  And  Perpetua  ?  you  have  not  thought  of 
Perpetua.  She  would  let  Tonio  and  his  bro- 
ther enter,  but  you  !  you  two !  think  of  that  f 
she  will  have  orders  to  keep  you  as  far  away 
as  boys  from  a  tree  with  ripe  pears  on  it." 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?"  said  Renzo,  thought- 
fully. 

"Let  me  see  a  moment,  whilst  I  think 
about  that.  I  will  go  with  you,  and  I  have  a 
secret  to  draw  her  off,  and  to  keep  her  in  such 
a  state  of  wonderment  that  she  will  not  think 
of  you,  and  so  you  can  get  in.  I'll  call  her, 
and  I'll  touch  such  a  chord  ;  you  shall  see." 

"  A  blessing  on  you,"  said  Renzo,  "  I  have 
always  said  that  you  are  our  help  in  every 
thing." 

"But  all  this  serves  to  nothing,"  said  Ag- 
nes, "if  you  can't  persuade  her  there,  who  is 
obstinate  in  persisting  that  it  is  a  sin." 

Renzo  now  brought  into  the  field  more  of 
lis  eloquence,  but  Lucia  could  not  be  per- 
suaded. 

'  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to  your  reasons," 
said  she,  "  but  I  see,  to  proceed  as  you  want 
to  do,  we  can't  get  on  without  underhand  con- 
trivances, and  lies,  and  fictions.  Ah,  Renzo  ! 
we  did  not  begin  so.  I  wish  to  be  your 
wife, — "  and  she  could  not  get  out  the  word, 
or  express  her  honest  wish,  without  her  coun- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


89 


tenance  being  suffused,  "  I  wish  to  be  your 
wife,  but  in  a  straight  forward  way,  with  the 
fear  of  God,  at  the  altar.  Let  us  be  guided  by 
the  friar.  Does  not  he  know  better  how  to  ex- 
tricate us,  than  we  can  possibly  do  with  all 
these  crooked  contrivances  ?  Why  should  we 
use  any  mystery  with  father  Christopher  ?" 

The  dispute  still  continued,  and  was  not  in 
a  way  to  terminate,  when  a  hurried  noise  of 
sandals,  and  the  flapping  of  a  tunic,  like  that 
which  the  pufls  of  wind  make  in  a  slackened 
sail,  announced  father  Christopher.  They  be- 
came silent,  and  Agnes  had  scarce  time  to 
whisper  into  the  ear  of  Lucia,"  Be  careful  you 
don't  tell  him." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

FATHER  CHRISTOPHER  arrived  in  the  atti- 
tude of  a  good  captain,  who  without  any  fault 
of  his  own,  has  lost  an  important  battle,  afflict- 
ed but  not  discouraged,  full  of  thought  but  not 
astounded,  under  sail  but  not  in  flight,  direct- 
ing his  course  where  necessity  requires,  to 
caution  places  which  are  threatened,  to  arrange 
his  troops,  and  to  give  new  orders. 

"  Peace  be  with  you,"  said  he,  entering. 
"  There  is  nothing  to  hope  from  the  man  ;  so 
much  the  more  it  behoves  us  to  confide  in  God, 
and  already  I  have  some  pledge  of  his  protec- 
tion." 

Although  not  one  of  the  three  hoped  much 
from  the  attempt  of  father  Christopher,  since 
to  see  a  powerful  man  recede  from  a  fraud, 
without  being  compelled  to  do  so  by  a  superi- 
or power,  and  through  pure  condescension  to 
unarmed  entreaties,  was  a  thing  rather  unheard 
of  than  rare,  nevertheless  the  certainty  of  the 
disappointment  was  a  blow  to  them  afl.  The 
women  hung  down  their  heads,  but  in  Renzo, 
anger  was  predominant  over  his  abasement. 
This  information  found  him  already  embitter- 
ed and  irritated,  by  a  suite  of  painful  surpris- 
es, of  disappointed  attempts,  of  deluded  hopes, 
and  above  aH,  soured  at  that  moment  by  the 
dissatisfaction  of  Lucia. 

"  I  should  like  to  know,"  he  cried  out,  grind- 
ing his  teeth  and  raising  his  voice  more  than 
he  had  ever  yet  ventured  to  do  before  father 
Christopher,  "  I  should  like  to  know  what 
reasons  that  hound  has  given,  to  sustain — to 
sustain  that  my  bride  is  not  to  be  my  bride." 

"  Poor  Renzo  ! "  replied  the  friar,  with  an 
accent  of  pity,  and  with  a  look  that  benevo- 
lently commanded  peaceableness,"  If  the  pow- 
erful man  who  wants  to  commit  injustice,  was 
always  obliged  to  give  his  reasons,  things 
would  not  go  as  they  do." 

"The  dog  then  has  said,  that  he  won't. 
Why  will  he  not?" 

"  He  has  not  even  said  so  much,  poor  Ren- 
zo !  It  would  be  an  advantage,  if  to  commit 
iniquity,  it  was  necessary  to  confess  it  openly ." 


"  But  something  he  must  have  said ;  what 
did  he  say,  that  firebrand  of  hell  ?" 

"  His  words  I  have  heard,  yet  cannot  repeat 
them  to  thee.  The  words  of  the  wicked  man, 
when  he  is  powerful,  penetrate,  yet  disappear. 
He  can  become  angry  if  you  appear  to  suspect 
him,  and  at  the  same  time  make  you  feel  that 
\vhich  you  suspect  him  of  is  true ;  he  can  in- 
sult, and  say  that  he  is  offended,  laugh  at  you 
and  ask  an  apology  ;  alarm  you  and  com- 
plain of  you,  be  audacious  and  yet  be  without 
blame.  Ask  no  further.  That  man  never 
uttered  the  name  of  this  innocent  nor  thine 
own,  he  did  not  let  it  appear  that  he  even  knew 
you,  he  did  not  say  that  he  pretended  to  any 
thing ;  but — but,  I  saw  too  well  that  he  was 
immoveable.  Nevertheless,confidence  in  God ! 
You,  poor  things,  be  not  cast  down ;  and  thou, 
Renzo — oh,  believe  me,  I  can  place  myself  in 
thy  situation,  and  can  feel  what  is  passing  in 
thy  heart.  But  patience!  it  is  a  meagre 
word,  a  bitter  word,  to  him  who  believes  not ; 
but  thou — !  wilt  thou  not  grant  to  God  one 
day,  two  days,  the  time  that  he  requires  to 
bring  down  from  above  what  is  right  again  ? 
Time  is  his,  and  he  has  promised  us  so  much ! 
Leave  it  to  him,  Renzo,  and  know — know  all  of 
ye,  that  I  have  hold  of  a  thread  to  aid  you.  At 
present  I  can  tell  you  no  more.  Tomorrow,! 
cannot  return  here,  I  must  remain  in  the  con- 
vent all  day  on  your  account.  Do  thou,  Renzo, 
endeavor  to  come,  and  if  by  some  unforeseen 
circumstance,  thou  art  not  able,  send  a  faithful 
man,  a  youth  of  some  judgment,  by  whom- 1 
can  make  you  acquainted  with  what  has  oc- 
curred. Night  is  approaching,  and  I  must 
hasten  to  the  convent.  Faith  and  courage ! 
and  a  good  evening," 

Having  said  this,  he  hastily  took  his  leave, 
and  went  away,  hastening  down  the  crooked 
and  stoney  path  that  he  might  not  arrive  late 
at  the  convent,  at  the  risk  of  getting  a  good 
scolding,  or  what  would  have  troubled  him 
more,  or'having  a  penitence  imposed  upon  him, 
which  would  have  prevented  him  the  next  day 
from  being  ready  for  whatever  might  occur 
for  the  service  of  his  young  friends. 

•"  Did  you  hear  what  he  said  of  a — I  do  not 
know  what — a  thread  that  he  has  hold  of  to 
aid  us  ?"  said  Lucia.  "  We  must  trust  in  him, 
he  is  a  man  who  when  he  promises  ten " 

"ff  that's  all,"  interrupted  Agnes,  "he 
should  have  spoken  plainer,  or  at  least  should 
have  taken  me  on  one  side,  and  told  me  what 
it  is  he " 

"  This  is  all  nothing  but  talk !  I'll  put  an 
end  to  it!  I'll  put  an  end  to  it!"  exclaimed 
Renzo  in  his  turn,  passing  furiously  up  and 
down  the  room,  and  with  a  voice,  and  with  a 
countenance  to  leave  little  room  to  doubt  in 
what  sense  he  intended  these  words. 

"  Oh,  Renzo!"  cried  out  Lucia. 

"  What  is  it  you  mean  ?"  said  Agnes. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  telling  ?  I'll  put  an  end 
to  it.  If  he  has  a  hundred — a  thousand  devils 
in  his  soul,  at  best  he  is  but  flesh  and  bone 
himself." 


40 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


"  No,  no,  for  the  love  of  Heaven — !"  Lucia 
began,  but  tears  choked  her  voice. 

"  You  should  not  talk  so,  even  when  you  are 
in  jest,"  said  Agnes. 

"  Jest !"  screamed  out  Renzo,  stopping  im- 
mediately in  front  of  Agnes  who  was  seated, 
and  fixing  a  pair  of  rolling  eyes  in  her  face ; 
"Jest !  you  shall  see  if  its  a  jest." 

"Oh,  Renzo!"  said  Lucia,  with  difficulty 
amidst  her  sobs,  "  I  have  never  seen  you  so." 

"  Dont  repeat  these  things  for  the  love  of 
Heaven,"  said  Agnes  hurriedly,  and  lowering 
her  voice.  "  Dont  you  remember  how  many 
we  are  ready  to  assist  you  ?  And  besides — 
God  deliver  us  ! — there  is  always  justice  for 
the  poor." 

"I'll  do  justice,  myself;  I !  its  full  time  I 
think !  The  thing  is  not  easy,  I  know  that  my- 
self. The  murderous  dog  goes  about  well  pro- 
tected ;  he  knows  what  he  ought  to  expect,  but 
that  is  nothing.  Patience  and  resolution — and 
the  moment  will  come.  Yes,  I'll  do  justice  my- 
self, I'll  free  the  country !  How  many  will  Wess 
me — !  And  then  in  four  jumps,  I'll " 

The  horror  which  Lucia  experienced  at  this 
very  plain  declaration,  stopped  her  weeping, 
and  gave  her  courage  to  speak ;  removing  her 
hands  from  her  tearful  countenance,  she  said 
to  Renzo,  with  a  sorrowful  voice,  yet  still  reso- 
lute ; 

"  You  don't  care  then,  about  having  me  for 
your  wife  ?  I  had  betrothed  myself  to  a  youth 
•who  lived  in  the  fear  of  God — but — a  man 
who  had — even  if  he  was  safe,  and  out  of  the 
reach  of  justice  and  vengeance,  if  he  was  the 
son  of  a  king " 

"  Well !"  cried  out  Renzo,  with  his  counte- 
nance still  more  disordered ,  "  You  will  not  be 
mine,  but  neither  shall  you  be  his.  I  shall 
live  here  without  you,  and  he  will  be  in  a  place 

"  Ah,  no,  for  mercy's  sake,  don't  talk  so, 
don't  roll  your  eyes  so ;  no,  I  cannot  see  you 
thus,"  she  exclaimed,  weeping,  imploring  and 
clasping  her  hands.  Agnes  in  the  meanwhile, 
repeatedly  called  the  youth  by  his  name,  pat- 
ted his  shoulders,  his  armsf  and  his  hands,  to 
ncify  him.  He  stood  immoveable,  thought- 
,  and  at  one  instant  almost  moved  by  the 
supplicating  countenance  of  Lucia ;  then  sud- 
denly giving  her  a  terrible  look,  he  drew  back, 
extended  his  arm  and  finger  towards  her,  and 
broke  out,  "  She !  yes,  it  is  her  he  wants. 
He  shall  die !" 

"  And  1,  what  evil  have  I  done  to  you,  that 
you  should  cause  me  to  die  too  ?"  said  Lucia, 
casting  herself  at  his  knees. 

"  You  !"  said  he,  with  a  voice  that  express- 
ed a  different  sort  of  resentment,  but  still  an 
irritated  feeling,  "  You !  what  good  do  you 
wish  me  ?  What  proof  of  it  have  you  given 
me  ?  Have  I  not  entreated  you,  and  entreated 
you,  and  entreated  you  ?  Have  I  been  able  to 
obtain — ?"  "  Yes,  yes,"  answered  Lucia,  with 
precipitation,  "  I  will  go  to  the  curate's  tomor- 
row ;  now,  if  you  wish,  I  will  go.  Only  take 
that  first  thing  back,  I  will  go/' 


"Do  you  promise  me  ?"  said  Renzo,  with  a 
tone  and  countenance  at  once  become  more 
humane. 

"  I  promise  you." 

"  You  have  promised  me." 

"Oh,  Lord,  I  thank  thee!"  exclaimed  Ag- 
nes, doubly  content.  In  the  midst  of  his  choler, 
had  Renzo  perceived  the  advantage  he  could 
draw  from  the  dread  of  Lucia?  And  had  he 
not  put  in  operation  a  little  artifice  to  increase 
it,  that  he  might  draw  some  benefit  from  it  ? 
Our  author  protests  to  know  nothing  on  this 
head,  and  I  am  of  opinion  that  neither  did 
Renzo  himself  know  very  well.  The  truth  is, 
that  he  was  enraged  with  Don  Rodrigo,  and 
was  full  of  ardor  to  obtain  the  consent  of  Lu- 
cia ;  now  when  two  strong  passions  are  stri- 
ving together  in  the  heart  of  a  man,  no  one, 
not  even  a  patient  one,  can  always  distinguish 
clearly  the  voice  of  one  from  the  voice  of  the 
other,  and  determine  with  certainty  which  of 
them  predominates. 

"  I  nave  promised  you,"  said  Lucia  with  an 
accent  of  reproach,  at  once  timid  and  affec- 
tionate, "  but  you  too  have  promised  not  to 
cause  any  scandal,  and  to  be  governed  by  the 
friar " 

•'  Oh  come  !  For  the  love  of  whom  do  I  get 
into  a  rage  ?  Do  you  want  to  retract  ?  and  make 
me  do  some  rash " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Lucia,  ready  to  resume  her 
apprehensions,  "  I  have  promised,  and  do  not 
retract.  But  see  what  you  have  made  me  pro- 
mise. God  will  not " 

"  Why  will  you  make  such  evil  auguries, 
Lucia  ?  God  knows  we  are  injuring  no  one." 

"  Promise  me  at  least,  that  this  shall  be  the 
last," 

"  I  do  promise  you  on  the  word  of  a  poor 
lad." 

"  But  mind  you  keep  your  word  this  time," 
said  Agnes. 

Here  the  author  confesses  his  ignorance  of 
another  matter;  whether  Lucia  was  abso- 
lutely and  quite  entirely  dissatisfied  that  she 
had  been  thus  obliged  to  give  her  consent. 
Like  him,  we  leave  the  thing  in  doubt. 

Renzo  might  have  prolonged  the  conversa- 
tion, and  arranged  minutely  what  was  to  be 
done  the  following  day ;  but  it  was  already 
dark,  and  the  women  wished  him  good  night, 
it  not  appearing  to  them  proper  that  he  should 
remain  there  any  later. 

The  night  however,  passed  in  as  goodly  a 
manner  to  all  three,  as  a  night  can  which  suc- 
ceeds to  a  day  full  of  agitation  and  distress, 
and  which  precedes  another  destined  to  an 
important  enterprise  of  uncertain  termination. 
Renzo  made  his  appearance  at  an  early  hour, 
and  concerted  with  the  women,  or  rather  with 
Agnes  the  great  operation  of  the  evening,  con- 
juring up  and  conquering  difficulties  by  turns, 
foreseeing  obstacles,  ana  beginning,  first  one 
and  then  the  other,  to  describe  the  underta- 
king, just  as  they  would  have  narrated  a  thing 
already  executed.  Lucia  listened,  and  with- 
out openly  approving  that  which  in  her  heart 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


41 


she  could  not  approve,  promised  to  do  the  best 
that  she  could. 

"  Will  you  go  down  to  the  convent,  to  speak 
to  father  Christopher,  as  he  told  you  to  do 
yesterday  evening?"  Agnes  asked  of  Renzo. 

"  Speak  to  him,  indeed  !*'  answered  he, 
"  you  know  what  prying  eyes  the  father  has 
cot;  he  would  read  in  my  face  just  as  he  does 
in  a  book,  that  there's  something  going  on ; 
and  if  he  should  begin  to  ask  me  questions, 
I  should  not  come  off  well.  Besides  I  must 
remain  here  to  keep  things  right.  It  will  be 
better  for  you  to  send  some  one." 

"  I'll  send  Menico." 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Renzo,  and  went  to 
look  after  matters  as  he  had  said. 

Agnes  went  to  a  neighboring  house  to  seek 
for  Menico,  a  boy  of  about  twelve  years  old, 
sharp  enough,  aud  by  way  of  cousins  and 
other  relationship,  a  sort  of  nephew  of  hers. 
She  asked  him  of  his  parents  as  a  sort  of  loan 
for  the  whole  day,  for  a  certain  service  she 
said.  And  having  obtained  him,  conducted 
him  to  her  kitchen,  gave  him  some  refresh- 
ment, and  told  him  to  go  to  Pescarenico,  and 
present  himself  to  fattier  Christopher,  who 
would  send  him  back  with  an  answer,  at  the 
proper  time.  "  Father  Christopher,  that  hand- 
some old  man,  thou  knowest,  with  the  white 
beard,  that  they  call  the  saint " 

"I  know,"  said  Menico,  "he  that  takes 
notice  of  the  boys  and  caresses  them,  and 
gives  them  sometimes  an  image." 

"  The  very  same,  Menico.  And  if  he  tells 
thee  to  wait  awhile  near  the  convent,  don't  go 
away.  Mind  and  don't  go  with  the  other 
boys  to  the  lake  to  play  at  ducks  and  drakes 
with  stones,  nor  to  see  them  fish,  nor  to  play 
with  the  nets  hung  to  the  wall  to  dry,  nor " 

"  Oh !  aunt,  I  am  not  such  a  child." 

"  Well,  be  prudent,  and  when  you  come 

back  with  an  answer see,  I  will  give  you 

these  two  nice  new  parpagliole.* 

"  Give  them  to  me  now " 

"  No,  no,  you  would  be  playing  them.  Go 
and  behave  thyself  and  I  will  give  thee  still 
more." 

The  remainder  of  that  long  morning,  cer- 
tain novelties  occurred  which  infused  a  good 
deal  of  suspicion  into  the  already  disturbed 
minds  of  the  women.  A  beggar,  not  a  com- 
plete and  ragged  one,  as  they  usually  were, 
but  with  something  dark  and  sinister  in  his 
countenance,  entered  the  house,  asked  for 
alms  in  God's  name,  and  cast  his  eyes  about 
as  if  he  was  spying.  A  piece  of  bread 
was  brought  to  him  which  he  received  and 
put  away  with  an  ill  concealed  indifference. 
He  kept  remaining  too,  with  a  sort  of  impu- 
dence, and  at  the  same  time  with  hesitation, 
making  a  great  many  inquiries,  to  which  Ag- 
nes always  hastily  gave  him  answers  the  very 
reverse  of  the  fact.  Moving,  as  if  he  were 
going  to  depart,  he  pretendedto  miss  the  door, 
and  went  through  another  which  led  to  the 


>  A  small  coin  with  a  butterfly  impressed  on  it. 
6 


staircase,  and  examined  the  premises  in  haste, 
as  well  as  he  could.  They  called  to  him, 
"  Where  are  you  going,  honest  man  ?  Eh  ! 
this  is  the  way."  Upon  which  he  returned, 
and  went  out  at  the  door  that  was  pointed  out 
to  him,  excusing  himself  with  a  submission 
and  pretended  humility,  that  he  made  an  effort 
to  call  up  in  his  hard  and  fierce  countenance. 
After  him,  several  other  strange  figures  ap- 
peared, from  time  to  time.  What  kind  of 
men  they  were,  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  find  out,  but  it  was  not  possible  to  believe 
they  were  the  honest  travelers  they  wished 
to  appear.  One  entered  under  the  pretext 
of  asking  the  road ;  others  slackened  their 
pace  when  they  were  opposite  the  door,  and 
cast  glances  across  the  court  yard  into  the 
room,  as  if  they  wanted  to  see  without  ex- 
citing suspicion.  Finally,  towards  midday, 
the  troublesome  procession  of  them  was  o^r. 
Agnes  rose  now  and  then,  crossed  the  court 
yard,  went  to  the  street,  and  returned  saying, 
"  There  is  no  more  of  them,"  words  that  she 
uttered,  and  that  Lucia  heard,  with  pleasure, 
without  either  the  one  or  the  other  Knowing 
very  clearly  why.  But  there  remained  with 
both  of  them  an  unaccountable  perturbation, 
which  overcame,  in  a  great  measure,  and 
principally  with  the  daughter,  the  courage 
they  had  kept  in  reserve  for  the  evening. 

The  reader,  however,  ought  to  have  some 
more  precise  information  respecting  those 
mysterious  ramblers,  and  that  he  may  have  it 
in  some  order,  we  must  turn  back  a  step  and 
find  Don  Rodrigo,  whom  we  left  yesterday 
after  dinner,  alone  in  a  hall  of  his  palace,  at 
the  departure  of  father  Christopher. 

Don  Rodrigo,  as  we  have  said,  was  measur- 
ing backwards  and  forwards  with  long  strides, 
the  hall,  on  the  walls  of  which  were  hanging 
family  portraits,  of  various  generations. — 
When  he  came  with  his  face  up  to  the  wall, 
and  was  about  to  turn,  he  saw  himself  fronted 
by  one  of  his  warlike  ancestors,  the  terror  of 
his  enemies,  and  of  his  soldiers,  fierce  in  his 
looks,  his  short  hair  shaggy  upon  the  front, 
his  mustachios  drawn  out  in  points  and  stand- 
ing out  from  his  cheeks,  his  chin  oblique. 
The  hero  was  at  full  length,  his  legs,  his 
thighs,  his  body,  his  arms,  his  hands,  all  cased 
in  iron,  his  right  hand  placed  upon  his  flank, 
and  his  left  resting  upon  the  pommel  of  his 
sword.  Don  Rodrigo  looked  at  the  figure, 
and  when  he  turned,  beheld  in  front  another 
ancestor,  a  magistrate,  the  terror  of  litigants, 
seated  upon  a  lofty  chair  of  red  velvet,  .wrap- 
ped in  a  dark  toga,  quite  black,  except  a 
broad  white  collar,  and  a  lining  of  ermine. 
(The  distinct  costume  of  a  Senator,  only  worn 
in  the  winter ;  and  this  is  the  reason  why  por- 
traits of  men  having  the  senatorial  dignity  are 
never  seen  in  their  summer  dress.)  The  coun- 
tenance was  pale,  the  brows  frowning :  in  his 
hand  he  held  a  memorial,  and  appeared  to  say 
"We  shall  see."  Here  was  a  matron,  the 
terror  of  her  damsels,  here  an  abbot,  the  dread 
of  his  mouka — all  of  them,  finally,  individuals 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


who  had  inspired  terror,  and  whose  pictures 
still  excited  that  feeling.  In  the  presence  of 
so  many  mementos,  Don  Rodrigo  became  still 
more  enraged ;  he  felt  humiliated,  and  knew 
no  peace,  because  a  friar  had  had  the  inso- 
lence to  throw  in  his  teeth  the  old  saying  of 
Nathan.  He  formed  plans  of  vengeance,  then 
abandoned  them ;  considered  at  the  same  mo- 
ment how  he  could  gratify  his  passion,  and 
vindicate  what  he  called  his  honor ;  and  some- 
times (mark  this!)  he  felt  a  shudder  come 
over  him,  with  the  beginning  of  that  prophe- 
cy in  his  ears,  that  almost  induced  him  to 
abandon  altogether  either  of  the  feelings  that 
agitated  him.  At  length,  to  do  something, 
he  called  a  servant  and  ordered  him  to  make 
bis  apologies  to  his  guests,  and  say  that  he 
was  detained  by  urgent  affairs.  When  the 
servant  returned  to  say  the  gentlemen  were 
gone  leaving  their  adieus.  "And  Count  Atti- 
fio  ?"  asked  Don  Rodrigo,  still  pacing  up  and 
down. 

"  He  went  out  with  the  gentlemen,  illus- 
'trious  sir." 

"  Well.  Six  persons  of  my  suite  for  a  walk. 
My  sword,  my  cloak,  and  hat,  immediately," 

The  servant  left  the  room,  bowing,  and 
soon  returned  with  a  rich  sword  that  his  mas- 
ter put  on,  a  cloak  that  he  threw  on  his 
shoulders,  and  with  a  hat  with  tall  plumes,  that 
he  carried  fiercely  to  his  head,  the  sign  of  a 
swelling  sea.  Having  reached  the  door,  he 
found  his  six  bullies  there,  all  armed,  who, 
bowing,  and  making  room  for  him,  fell  into 
his  rear.*  More  sullen,  more  haughty,  more 
frowning  than  usual,  he  left  the  house  and  fol- 
lowed the  road  to  Lecco.  The  rustics,  the 
artisans,  who  saw  him  approach,  drew  near  to 
the  wall,  and  began  taking  off  their  hats,  and 
making  profound  bows,  which  by  him  were 
altogether  unnoticed.  Those  who  were  es- 
teemed of  the  better  class  also  bowed  to  him 
as  his  inferiors,  for  in  the  whole  neighborhood 
there  was  not  one,  who  could  compete  with 
him  in  name,  in  riches,  in  adherents,  and  in 
the  disposition  to  avail  himself  of  all  these  ad- 
vantages, to  maintain  his  superiority  over  them. 
Men  of  this  class  he  saluted  with  a  reserved 
condescension.  That  day  it  did  not  so  fall  out, 
but  when  it  did  happen  to  him  to  meet  the 
Spanish  Castellan,  the  bowing  was  equally  pro- 
found on  both  sides :  like  two  potentates, 
who,  having  no  matter  of  contention  between 
them,  as  a  matter  of  expediency,  do  honor  to 
each  other's  rank.  To  get  rid  of  his  bad  hu- 
mor, and  to  drive  from  his  fancy  the  image  of 
the  friar,  which  still  tormented  him,  by  ob- 
serving faces  and  actions  the  reverse  of  his, 
he  entered  that  day  a  house  where  a  party  had 
assembled,  and  where  he  was  received  with 
that  busy  and  respectful  cordiality,  reserved 
for  men  who  are  either  very  much  beloved,  or 
very  much  feared,  and  when  night  came  on, 
he  returned  to  his  palace.  Count  Attilio  had 
got  back  at  the  same  moment;  supper  was 
then  served,  to  which  Don  Rodrigo  sat 
thoughtfully  down,  and  spoke  very  little. 


"  Cousin,  when  will  you  pay  me  this  wa- 
ger ?"  said  Count  Attilio,  with  a  malicious  and 
jocular  air,  as  soon  as  the  servants  had  left  the 


"  Saint  Martin's  day  is  not  gone  by  yet." 
"  You  may  as  well  pay  it  now,  for  all  the 
saints'  days  in  the  calendar  will  pass  by,  be- 

"  That's  what  we  have  to  see  yet." 

"  Cousin,  you  want  to  play  the  politician, 
but  I  understand  you ;  and  I  am  so  certain  I 
have  won  the  wager,  thai  I  am  ready  to  bet 
another." 

"  What  ?" 

"  That  the  friar — the  friar — how  do  I  know  ? 
that  friar  then  has  converted  you." 

"  Ah,  indeed !  that  is  quite  one  of  you* 
bright  thoughts." 

"  Converted,  cousin — converted,  I  say.  I 
rejoice  at  it.  Do  you  know  that  it  will  be  a 
very  moving  spectacle  to  see  you  all  com- 
punction, and  with  your  eyes  cast  down.  And 
what  glory  for  that  old  friar !  How  big  he 
must  have  felt  when  he  went  home.  Such 
fish  are  not  to  be  caught  every  day,  nor  with 
such  a  net.  Be  assured  that  he  will  quote 
you  as  an  example,  and  when  he  goes  upon 
some  of  his  missions  to  a  distance,  he'll  talk 
of  your  actions  no  doubt.  I  can  almost  seem 
to  hear  him."  And  here,  speaking  through 
his  nose,  and  accompanying  his  words  with  a 
caricatured  action,  he  continued,  in  a  sermon- 
izing tone,  "  In  a  part  of  this  world,  which 
out  of  respect  I  do  not  name,  there  lived,  my 
beloved  brethren,  and  there  still  lives,  a  de- 
bauched cavalier,  more  a  friend  to  women 
than  to  honest  men ;  and  who,  being  in  the 
habit  of  doing  whatever  he  liked,  had  cast  his 
eyes  upon " 

"  Enough,  enough,"  interrupted  Don  Rod- 
rigo, half  smiling  and  half  annoyed,  "  If  you 
wish  to  double  the  bet,  I  will  indulge  you." 

"  The  devil !  why  have  you  converted  the 
friar  ?" 

"  Do  not  talk  to  me  of  him ;  and  as  to  the 
bet,  Saint  Martin  will  decide."  The  curiosity 
of  the  Count  was  piqued  ;  he  did  not  spare  his 
inquiries;  but  Don  Kodrigo  evaded  them  all, 
referring  every  thing  to  the  day  of  decision, 
and  being  unwilling  on  his  part  to  communi- 
cate designs  which  were  not  in  progress,  nor 
even  positively  determined  upon. 

The  following  morning  when  Don  Rodrigo 
awoke,  that  small  portion  of  compunction 
which  "  A  day  will  come,"  had  brought  upon 
him,  had  vanished  with  the  dreams  of  the 
night,  and  his  anger  alone  remained,  exacer- 
bated by  the  remorse  of  that  passing  weak- 
ness. The  more  recent  images  of  his  trium- 
phant walk,  of  the  bows,  of  the  reception  he 
nad  met,  even  the  jokes  of  his  cousin,  had 
contributed  not  a  little  to  re-establish  his  an- 
cient resolution.  Scarce  was  he  up,  when  he 
caused  Griso  to  be  called.  "  Some  famous  af- 
fair," said  the  servant  to  himself,  to  whom  this 
order  was  given,  for  the  man  who  bore  that 
name  was  nothing  less  than  the  chief  of  the 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


Bravos — he  to  whom  was  entrusted  the  exe- 
cution of  the  most  daring  and  most  insolent 
actions,  the  confident  of  the  master ;  a  man 
devoted  to  him  in  the  strongest  way,  by  grati- 
tude and  interest.  Guilty  of  a  public  Homi- 
cide, to  get  out  of  the  reach  of  justice  he  had 
come  to  implore  the  protection  of  Don  Rod- 
rigo  ;  and  he,  receiving  him  into  his  service, 
had  shielded  him  from  all  persecution.  Thus, 
by  engaging  to  commit  every  crime  that  was 
imposed  upon  him,  he  had  secured  to  himself 
impunity  for  the  other.  For  Don  Rodrigo  the 
acquisition  was  of  no  small  importance,  be- 
cause Griso,  besides  being  the  most  valiant, 
without  comparison,  of  the  family,  was  also  a 
specimen  or  what  his  master  had  been  able 
successfully  to  achieve  against  the  power  of 
law ;  so  that  the  strength  of  his  influence  be- 
came stronger  both  in  fact  and  in  opinion. 

"Griso,"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  "in  this  conjunc- 
ture, I  shall  see  what  you  are  worth.  Before 
tomorrow,  that  Lucia  must  be  in  this  palace." 

"  It  shall  never  be  said  that  Griso  draws 
back  from  executing  any  of  the  commands  of 
his  illustrious  master." 

"  Take  as  many  men  as  you  may  want,  or- 
der and  dispose  as  it  seems  best  to  you,  so 
that  the  thing  succeeds.  But  above  all  things, 
see  that  she  is  not  hurt." 

"  Signor,  a  little  fear — so  that  she  does  not 
make  too  much  noise — we  can't  do  other- 
wise." 

"  Fear  ?  I  understand — that  is  inevitable. 
But  do  not  touch  a  hair  of  her  head ;  and  es- 
pecially have  a  care  to  observ,e  every  respect 
to  her.  Have  you  understood  ?" 

"  Signor,  we  cannot  by  any  means  whatever 
take  a  flower  away  from  its  stalk,  and  bring 
it  to  your  Excellency,  without  disturbing  it  a 
little  ;  but  nothing  but  what  is  quite  necessary 
shall  be  done." 

"  Under  your  responsibility.  And — how 
will  you  proceed  ? " 

"I  was  thinking  Sir.  It  is  lucky  that  the 
cottage  is  at  the  head  of  the  village.  We  want 
a  place  to  go  and  keep  hid  at,  and  just  in  the 
nick  there  is  that  ruined  building,  not  far 
off,  in  the  midst  of  the  fields ;  that  house 
(your  Excellency  does  not  know  any  thing 
about  such  things)  is  a  house  that  was  burnt 
some  years  ago,  and  they  have  not  the  means  to 
repair  it ;  they  have  abandoned  it,  and  now 
the  witches  live  in  it,  but  it's  not  Saturday, 
and  I  laugh  at  that.  These  country  people 
are  full  of  omens,  and  would  not  pass  any 
night  in  the  week  there  for  a  treasure  ;  so  that 
we  can  go  there  and  keep  snug  in  safety,  since 
no  one  will  come  to  spoil  our  affairs." 

"  Very  well ;  and  men  ?" 

Here  Griso  began  to  propose,  and  Don  Rod- 
rigo to  discuss,  until  they  had  mutually  con- 
certed the  manner  of  conducting  their  enter- 
prize,  so  that  no  trace  might  remain  of  its  au- 
thors ;  the  manner  too  of  diverting  suspicion  by 
fallacious  indications,  in  an  opposite  direction ; 
of  imposing  silence  upon  poor  Agnes  ;  of  rilling 
Renzo  witn  such  terror,  that  it  might  predomi- 


nate over  his  grief,  and  even  the  idea  of  hav- 
ing recourse  to  justice,  and  of  making  any 
complaints ;  every  sort  of  villany,  in  short,  ne- 
cessary to  the  success  of  the  principal  villany. 
We  shall  leave  such  matters  aside,  because,  as 
the  reader  will  see,  they  are  not  necessary  to 
understand  the  story,  and  we  are  loth  to  dwell 
longer,  or  to  detain  him  any  further  by  the  re- 
lation of  what  took  place  between  such  a 
couple  of  scoundrels.  Let  it  suffice,  that  whilst 
Griso  was  departing  to  begin  the  undertaking, 
Don  Rodrigo  called  him  back,  and  said, 
"  Listen,  if  by  chance  that  rash  clown  should 
fall  into  your  clutches  this  evening,  it  would 
not  be  amiss  to  give  him  by  anticipation  a 
good  memorial  upon  his  shoulders.  So  that 
the  order  that  will  be  intimated  to  him  tomor- 
row to  keep  quiet,  will  more  certainly  pro- 
duce its  effect.  But  don't  go  and  look  for  him, 
that  you  may  not  hinder  what  is  of  more  con- 
sequence :  do  you  understand  me  ?" 

"Leave  it  to  me,"  answered  Griso,  with 
an  obsequious  and  confident  bow,  and  went 
away. 

Trie  morning  was  spent  in  reconnoitering 
the  country.  The  false  beggar  who  had  in- 
truded himself  into  the  cottage  was  Griso, 
who  came  to  view  the  premises :  the  pretend- 
ed travelers  were  his  own  hounds,  to  whom, 
for  the  execution  of  his  plans,  the  slightest 
knowledge  of  the  place  was  sufficient.  And 
having  made  their  observations,  they  with- 
drew themselves,  that  they  might  not  occasion 
suspicion. 

As  soon  as  they  were  returned  to  the  palace, 
Griso  rendered  an  account,  settled  definitive- 
ly the  plan  of  the  enterprize  assigned  the 
parts,  and  delivered  his  instructions.  All  this 
could  not  be  done  without  the  old  servant, 
who  had  both  his  eyes  and  ears  wide  open, 
being  aware  that  there  was  some  great  affair 
machinating.  By  waiting  and  asking,  catch- 
ing a  hint  nere  and  there,  expounding  some 
obscure  word  to  himself,  and  interpreting  mis- 
terious  movements,  he  at  last  found  out  what 
was  going  to  be  done  that  night.  But  when 
he  had  found  it  out,  night  was  not  far  off,  and 
a  small  vanguard  of  the  bullies  had  already 
left  the  house,  to  conceal  themselves  in  the 
dilapidated  building.  The  poor  old  man,  al- 
though he  felt  he  was  engaged  in  a  dangerous 
game,  still  would  not  fail  in  his  promise.  He 
went  out,  under  the  excuse  of  getting  a  little 
air,  and  in  great  haste  took  the  road  to  the  con- 
vent, to  give  father  Christopher  the  promised 
information. 

A  short  time  afterwards  the  other  Bravos 
got  in  motion,  descending  the  hill  separately, 
by  one  and  two  at  a  time,  that  they  might  not 
seem  like  one  company.  Next  Griso  follow- 
ed, and  nothing  remained  behind  but  a  litter, 
which  was  to  be  carried,  and  which  was  car- 
ried to  the  ruin,  after  the  evening  had  set  in. 
As  soon  as  they  were  all  assembled,  Griso  de- 
spatched three  of  them  to  the  village  inn ;  one 
was  to  remain  at  the  door  to  observe  the 
movements  in  the  street,  and  to  watch  the  mo* 


44 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


ment  when  all  the  inhabitants  should  be  re- 
tired :  the  other  two  were  to  remain  within 
playing  and  drinking,  as  if  to  pass  the  time, 
and  were  to  keep  a  good  watch  too,  if  any 
thing  was  to  be  found  out.  Griso  with  the  main 
body,  remained  in  the  ambuscade  waiting. 

The  poor  old  man  was  still  trotting  on,  the 
three  explorers  arrived  at  their  post,  and  the 
sun  set,  when  Renzo  came  to  the  women  and 
said  to  them  "  Tonio  and  Gervaso  are  in  the 
street,  I  am  going  to  sup  with  them  at  the  inn, 
and  exactly  at  ave-maria  we  will  come  foryou. 
Be  of  good  courage,  Lucia !  every  thing  de- 
pends upon  a  moment."  Lucia  signed  and  an- 
swered, "  Oh  yes,  courage,"  with  a  voice  that 
contradicted  the  word. 

When  Renzo  and  his  two  companions  ar- 
rived at  the  inn,  they  found  the  Bravo  already 
planted  as  a  sentinel,  occupying  half  the  door- 
stead,  his  back  leaning  against  the  door-post, 
and  carefully  looking  about  to  the  right  and  to 
the  left,  and  showing  now  the  white  now  the 
black  of  two  ferocious  eyes.  A  flat  cap  of  crim- 
son velvet,  placed  on  one  side,  covered  the  half 
of  his  tuft,  which  dividing  on  his  dark  brow, 
terminated  in  locks  fastened  behind  with  a 
comb  in  the  nape  of  the  neck.  In  his  hand  he 
held  a  stout  cudgel :  arms,  properly  speaking, 
he  did  not  exhibit,  but  bylooking  in  his  face 
only,  a  child  even  might  have  guessed  he  had 
as  many  concealed  under  his  clothes  as  he 
could  carry. 

Renzo  being  the  foremost  of  the  three, 
when  he  was  near  this  fellow,  showed  his  in- 
tention to  enter,  but  without  incommoding 
himself  he  looked  Renzo  steadily  in  the  face  ; 
the  youth,  however,  intending  to  avoid  all  con- 
versation, as  every  one  would  with  a  critical 
enterprize  to  conduct,  did  not  even  say,  "  Will 
you  move  a  little  ?"  but  keeping  close  to  the 
other  door-post,  passed  in  obliquely,  side  fore- 
most, through  the  space  left  by  that  Cariatide. 
His  two  companions  found  it  necessary  to 
perform  the  same  evolution  if  they  meant  to 
enter.  As  soon  as  they  got  in,  they  saw  the 
other  two  scoundrelly  Bravos,  whose  voices 
they  had  heard,  seated  at  a  small  table,  play- 
ing at  Mora,*  screaming  out  both  together  at 
once,  and  pouring  out  first  to  one  and  then  to 
the  other,  from  a  large  flask  standing  between 
them.  These  also  examined  the  new  comers, 
and  one  of  the  two  particularly,  holding  out  in 
the  air  his  right  hand,  with  three  monstrous 
fingers  spread  out,  and  his  mouth  gaping  to  let 
out  a  nix  that  was  just  on  its  journey,  observed 
Renzo  keenly,  then  winked  to  his  companion, 
and  afterwards  to  the  fellow  at  the  door,  who 
answered  him  with  a  sign  of  the  head.  Renzo 
somewhat  suspicious  and  uncertain,  looked  at 
his  two  guests,  as  if  he  would  seek  in  their 
faces  an  interpretation  of  these  grimaces,  but 
their  countenances  indicated  nothing  but  good 
appetites.  The  host  looked  at  him  as  if  to 


*  Mora  u  played  by  two  persona ;  each  throws  out 
one  or  more  fingers,  and  he  who  calls  out  the  exact 
number  both  throw  out,  wins. 


wait  his  orders,  and  drawing  him  into  another 
room  nigh  at  hand,  he  ordered  supper. 

"  Who  are  these  strangers  ?"  asked  Renzo, 
in  a  low  voice,  when  he  returned  to  the  room, 
with  a  coarse  napkin  under  his  arm,  and  a 
flask  in  his  hand. 

"  I  don't  know  them,"  answered  the  inn- 
keeper, spreading  the  cloth. 

"How,  not  one  of  them?" 

"  You  know  well,"  answered  he,  spreading 
hastily  the  cloth  on  the  table,  "  that  the  first 
rule  of  our  trade  is  never  to  ask  about  other 
people's  affairs,  so  much  so,  that  even  our  wo- 
men are  not  curious.  We  should  be  in  a  pretty 
box  with  so  many  people  going  and  coming. 
This  is  always  a  free  port,  that  is,  when  the 
years  are  tolerable,  and  we  keep  ourselves 
cheerful  with  the  hope  that  good  times  will 
return.  It  is  enough  for  us  that  our  custom- 
ers are  honest  men ;  who  they  are,  or  who  they 
are  not,  is  of  no  consequence.  And  now  I'll 
bring  you  a  dish  of  forced  meat,  such  as  you 
never  ate  before." 

"  How  can  you  tell — ?"  said  Renzo,  but  the 
host  went  straight  forwards  on  to  his  kitchen. 
There  whilst  he  was  attending  to  the  pot  con- 
taining the  forced  meat  we  have  spoken  of,  he 
was  quietly  accosted  by  the  ruffian  looking  fel- 
low who  had  eyed  our  youth,  and  who  said,  in 
a  low  tone,  "  Who  are  these  good  men,  here  ?" 

"  Some  honest  folks  of  the  place,"  replied 
the  innkeeper,  turning  the  meat  into  a  dish. 

"  That  is  all  right,  but  what  are  their  names  ? 
Who  are  they  ?"  ne  inquired  in  a  rather  rough 
tone. 

"  One  of  them  is  named  Renzo,"  answered 
the  host  in  an  under  tone,  "  a  good  young  fel- 
low, a  silk  thrower,  who  understands  his  busi- 
ness. The  other  is  a  countryman,  called  Tonio, 
a  merry,  good  sort  of  chap  ;  it  is  a  pity  he  is 
but  poorly  off,  if  he  was  not  he  would  spend  it 
all  here.  The  other  is  a  blockhead  that  is  very 
fond  of  eating  any  thing  you  will  give  to  him. 
With  permission." 

Saying  this  he  brushed  off  between  the  fire 
place  and  the  interrogator,  and  carried  the 
dish  where  it  was  expected.  "  How  can  you 
tell,"  began  Renzo  again,  when  he  saw  him 
coming,  "that  they  are  honest  men,  when 
you  don't  know  them  ?" 

"  By  actions,  my  dear  fellow ;  man  is  known 
by  his  actions.  Those  who  drink  wine  with- 
out finding  any  fault  with  it,  who  show  the 
King's  picture  on  the  table  without  talking 
about  it,  who  do  not  enter  into  disputes  with 
other  customers,  and  who  if  they  have  the 
thrust  of  a  dirk  to  spare  to  any  body,  go  and 
wait  for  him  out  of  doors,  at  a  distance  from 
the  inn,  so  that  the  poor  host  is  not  called  in 
question,  those  are  honest  men.  But  you  can 
tell  well  bred  people,  just  as  well  as  we  four 
know  one  anotLer,  and  better.  But  what  the 
devil  are  you  so  curious  about,  a  bridegroom 
like  you  ought  to  have  other  things  running  in 
his  head.  Come  try  the  mince  meat,  it  would 
bring  a  dead  man  to  life  again."  Having  said 
this,  ne  returned  into  the  kitchen. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


45 


Our  author,  speaking  of  the  different  lan- 
guage the  host  held  to  the  parties  who  interro- 
gated him,  observes,  that  he  was  a  man  so 
constituted,  that  in  his  conversation  he  always 
professed  to  be  a  great  admirer  of  honest  men 
in  general,  but  that  in  practice  he  had  a  great 
deal  more  complaisance  for  those  who  had 
either  the  reputation  or  the  external  appear- 
ance of  rascals.  He  was,  as  may  be  perceiv- 
ed, a  man  of  a  singular  character. 

The  supper  was  not  a  very  merry  one.  The 
two  guests  would  have  preferred  to  have  en- 
joyed it  more  at  leisure,  but  the  inviter,  pre- 
occupied with  what  the  reader  is  apprized 
of,  and  disturbed,  even  made  unquiet  by  the 
strange  deportment  of  these  unknown  persons, 
was  longing  for  the  hour  of  departure.  On 
account  of  these  men,  they  spoke  in  an  under 
tone,  in  a  broken  and  restrained  manner. 

"  What  a  wonderful  thing  it  is,"  escaped 
from  Gervaso  all  at  once,"  that  Renzo  wants  to 
be  married,  and  must  have — "  Renzo  looked 
at  him  sternly,  "  Will  you  hold  your  tongue, 
beast !"  said  Tonio  to  him,  accompanying  the 
title  with  a  thrust  from  his  elbow.  The  con- 
versation went  on  languishing  until  it  stopped. 
Renzo  observing  a  strict  sobriety,  pouring  out 
the  wine  to  his  witnesses  with  discretion,  so 
as  to  make  them  a  little  bold,  without  getting 
too  much  in  their  beads.  All  being  finished, 
and  the  account  paid  by  the  man  that  had 
consumed  the  least,  they  had  all  three  to  pass 
again  before  the  bravos,  who  turned  to  IOOK  at 
Renzo,  as  at  the  first  time. 

As  soon  as  he  had  got  a  few  paces  from  the 
inn  he  looked  behind,  and  saw  that  the  two 
he  had  left  seated  in  the  kitchen,  were  follow- 
ing him.  But  they,  perceiving  themselves  ob- 
served, also  stopped,  spoke  in  an  under  tone, 
and  turned  back.  If  Renzo  had  been  nigh 
enough  to  hear  what  they  said,  it  would  have 
appeared  strange  enough  to  hear  as  follows : — 

"  It  would  be  quite  an  honor,  without  count- 
ing the  reward,"  said  one  of  the  villains,  "  on 
returning  to  the  palace,  to  have  had  to  tell  that 
we  had  flattened  his  ribs  in  a  hurry,  done  by 
ourselves  too,  without  Griso  giving  us  any  in- 
structions." 

"  And  so  ruin  the  main  part  of  the  affair," 
replied  the  other.  "  See,  he  is  aware  of  some- 
thing, he  stops  to  look  at  us.  If  it  was  only  a 
little  later !  But  let  us  go  back,  that  they  may 
not  suspect  us.  You  see  people  are  coming 
from  every  quarter,  let  us  let  them  all  go  to 
roost." 

There  was,  in  fact,  that  sort  of  busy  hum- 
ming noise  that  is  made  in  villages  towards 
evening,  and  which  after  a  short  time  gives 
place  to  the  solemn  tranquillity  of  night.  The 
women  came  from  the  field  carrying  their 
young  ones  on  their  backs,  and  leading  the 
older  ones,  whom  they  were  teaching  to  repeat 
the  ave-maria,  by  the  hand.  The  men  went 
trudging  along  with  their  spades  and  hoes  on 
their  shoulders.  At  the  opening  of  their  doors, 
flickering  lights  were  observed  from  the  fires 
lighted  for  their  meagre  suppers.  Salutations 


were  exchanged  in  the  street,  and  short  and 
sorrowful  colloquies  on  the  scarcity  of  the  har- 
vest, and  the  misery  of  the  times ;  and  louder 
than  their  voices  were  heard,  the  measured 
and  sonorous  twangs  of  the  bell  that  an- 
nounced the  dying  day.  When  Renzo  saw 
that  the  two  prying  fellows  had  retired,  he 
kept  on  amidst  the  increasing  darkness,  re- 
minding, in  a  low  voice,  the  two  brothers,  first 
of  one  thing,  then  of  another.  It  was  night  when 
they  arrived  at  the  cottage  of  Lucia. 

Betwixt  the  first  conception  of  a  terrible  un- 
dertaking, and  its  execution,  (it  has  been  said 
by  a  barbarian  not  without  genius,)  the  inter- 
val is  a  dream  full  of  phantasms  and  apprehen- 
sion. Lucia  had  been  for  several  hours  in  the 
anguish  of  such  a  dream ;  and  Agnes,  Agnes 
herself,  the  contriver  of  the  plan,  was  thought- 
ful, and  found  arguments  with  difficulty  to  en- 
courage her  daughter.  But  at  the  moment  of 
waking  up,  at  the  instant  when  action  must 
begin,  the  mind  has  undergone  a  metamor- 
phosis. To  the  terror  and  to  the  courage 
which  were  in  conflict,  succeed  a  terror  and 
a  courage  of  another  kind  ;  the  underta- 
king presents  itself  as  a  new  apparition ;  that 
which  at  first  appeared  most  to  be  dreaded, 
seems  all  at  once  to  become  practicable;  at 
times  a  difficulty  is  magnified,  which  before 
was  scarce  adverted  to ;  the  imagination,  full 
of  dread,  recoils,  the  limbs  refuse  their  office, 
and  the  heart  is  wanting  to  those  promises  it 
had  encouraged  with  the  greatest  confidence. 
At  the  low  knocking  of  Renzo,  Lucia  was 
seized  with  such  terror  that  she  resolved  at 
that  moment,  to  suffer  every  thing,  to  remain 
for  ever  separated  from  him,  rather  than  exe- 
cute the  proposed  plan ;  but  when  he  showed 
himself,  and  had  said,  "  Here  I  am,  let  us  go ;" 
when  all  appeared  ready  to  commence  the  un- 
dertaking without  hesitation,  as  a  thing  irre- 
vocably fixed,  Lucia  had  neither  time  nor 
heart  to  make  any  objections  ;  and  as  if  she 
was  dragged,  she  trembling  took  an  arm  of  her 
mother,  and  an  arm  of  her  lover,  and  went 
with  the  adventurous  party. 

Softly,  softly,  in  the  dark,  with  measured 
steps,  they  went  out  of  the  door,  and  took  the 
road  that  led  out  of  the  village.  The  shortest 
way  would  have  been  to  go  through  it,  to  reach 
the  other  end,  where  the  house  of  Don  Abbon- 
dio  stood,  but  they  chose  this  to  avoid  being 
seen.  By  paths  among  the  orchards  and  fields, 
they  arrived  near  the  house,  and  here  they 
divided  themselves.  The  betrothed  pair  re- 
mained behind  one  of  the  corners,  Agnes  with 
them,  but  a  little  in  advance,  to  run  in  time  to 
meet  Perpetua  and  to  get  hold  of  her.  Tonio 
with  that  useless  numskull,  Gervaso,  who 
was  good  for  nothing  by  himself,  yet  without 
whom  nothing  could  be  done,  bravely  fronted 
the  door,  andlifted  the  knocker. 

"  Who's  there,  at  this  time  o'night  ?"  cried 
out  at  a  voice  at  the  window,  which  was  in- 
stantly thrown  up ;  it  was  Perpetua — "  There's 
nobody  sick  that  I  know  of.  Has  any  misfor- 
tune happened  ?" 


46 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


"It's  me,"  answered Tonio,  "  with  my  bro- 
ther, we  want  to  speak  with  his  worship  the 
curate." 

"  Is  this  an  hour  for  Christians  ?"  rudely  an- 
swered Perpetua.  "  Why,  you  have  got  no  dis- 
cretion, return  tomorrow." 

"  Hear — I  shall  either  return  or  I  shall  not 
return.  I  have  got  a  little  money  together,  and 
I  thought  I'd  come  and  pay  that  old  matter  you 
know  of.  Here's  twenty  five  new  pieces,  how- 
ever if  I  can't  pay  them,  why  patience  ;  I  know 
how  to  get  rid  of  them,  and  I  can  come  back 
again  when  I  have  got  some  more  together." 

"  Stop,  stop,  I'll  go  and  come  back  again. 
But  why  do  you  come  at  such  an  hour  ?" 
"  If  you  can  change  it  for  one  you  like  better, 
why,  with  all  my  heart ;  as  for  me,  here  I  am, 
and  if  you  don't  want  me,  well  I  can  go." 

"  No,  no,  stop  a  moment ;  I'll  come  back 
with  the  answer." 

Saying  this,  she  shut  the  window.  Agnes 
now  left  the  lovers,  saying  softly  to  Lucia, 
"  Courage,  its  only  an  instant,  its  like  getting  a 
tooth  drawn,"  and  joined  the  two  brothers  be- 
fore the  door,  holding  conversation  with  Tonio 
in  such  a  way,  that  when  Perpetua  should  re- 
turn and  see  her  there,  she  might  think  she 
was  passing  by  only,  and  that  Tonio  was 
merely  holding  a  little  talk  with  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

CARN-EADES  !  Who  was  he  ?  Don  Abbondio 
was  ruminating  with  himself  in  his  great  arm 
chair,  in  a  chamber  in  the  upper  story,  with  a 
small  book  op'en  before  him,  when  Perpetua 
entered  with  the  embassy.  Carneades!  I 
think  I  have  heard  or  read  of  this  name  ;  he 
must  have  been  a  man  of  study,  some  learned 
man  of  the  old  days ;  its  one  of  their  names  ; 
but  who  the  devil  was  he  ?  So  far  was  the  poor 
man  from  foreseeing  what  sort  of  a  storm  was 
going  to  burst  over  nis  head ! 

The  reader  must  know  that  Don  Abbondio 
was  fond  of  reading  a  few  lines  every  day,  and 
a  neighboring  curate.who  had  a  sort  of  library, 
lent  him  one  book  after  another,  the  first  that 
came  to  his  hand.  The  book  upon  which  Don 
Abbondio  was  meditating  at  that  moment — 
being  now  convalescent  of  his  terror  fever,  in- 
deed, as  far  as  fever  was  .concerned,  more  com- 
pletely cured  than  he  was  willing  to  acknow- 
ledge— was  a  panegyric  in  honor  of  Saint 
Charles,  delivered  with  great  emphasis,  and 
heard  with  much  admiration  in  the  Dome  of 
Milan,  two  years  before.  The  saint  was  com- 
pared, on  account  of  his  love  of  study,  to  Ar- 
chimedes, and  thus  far  Don  Abbondio,  had  not 
been  puzzled,  because  Archimedes  has  done 
such  great  things,  and  has  caused  himself  to 
be  so  much  talked  of,  that  without  possessing 
vast  erudition,  a  man  may  know  some  little 


matter  about  him.  But  having  done  with  Ar- 
chimedes, the  orator  institutes  a  comparison 
with  Carneades,  and  here  Don  Abbondio  was 
completely  run  ashore.  Just  at  this  time,  Per- 
petua announced  the  visit  of  Tonio. 

"  At  this  hour  ?"  cried  he,  likewise,  as  was 
very  natural. 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  They  have  no  dis- 
cretion, but  if  you  don't  take  them  when  they 
are  flying " 

"  If  I  don't  catch  him,  who  knows  when  I 
shall  catch  him  ?  Let  him  come — Eh !  eh ! 
are  you  quite  sure  it's  him,  Tonio  ?" 

"Why,  the  dickens ! "  answered  Perpetua, 
and  going  down  stairs,  opened  the  door,  say- 
ing "where  are  you  ?"  Tonio  came  forward, 
and  then  Agnes  appeared  and  saluted  Per- 
petua by  name. 

"Good  evening,  Agnes,"  safid  Perpetua, 
"  where  do  you  come  from  at  this  hour  ?" 

"  I  came  from "  naming  a  small  place 

in  the  neighborhood,  "  and  if  you  only  knew," 
she  continued,  "  I  staid  rather  too  long  only 
on  your  own  account." 

"Ay,  wherefore,"  inquired  Perpetua;  and 
turning  to  the  two  brothers,  "  enter,"  she  said, 
"  I'll  go  with  you." 

"  Why,"  resumed  Agnes,  "  it  was  because 
one  of  those  women  that  know  nothing,  and 
still  will  talk would  you  believe  it  ?  insist- 
ed that  you  was  not  married  to  Beppo  Suola- 
vecchia,  nor  to  Anselmo  Lunghigna,  because 
they  would'nt  have  you.  I  insisted  upon  it 
that  you  had  refused  them,  both  one  and 
t'other " 

"Certainly.  Oh  the  lying  slut!  the  lying 
minx  !  Who  is  she  !" 

"Don't  ask  me.  I  don't  like  to  brew 
ill " 

"  You  shall  tell  me ;  I  will  know  it;  the  im- 
pudent lying  slut." 

"Enough — but  you  cannot  believe  how 
vexed  I  was  not  to  know  the  whole  story  just 
to  confound  her." 

"  She  is  a  good  for  nothing,  infamous  lying 
devil !"  said  Perpetua.  "  As  to  Beppo,  every 
body  knew  and  could  see — eh !  Tonio,  shut 
the  door  gently  and  go  up  stairs,  I'll  follow 
you."  Tonio  answered  from  within  that  he 
would  do  so,  and  Perpetua  went  on  with  her 
story  in  the  most  impassioned  manner. — 
Fronting  the  door  of  Don  Abbondio,  there 
was  a  lane  that  separated  two  small  houses, 
and  when  it  had  reached  their  extreme  length, 
turned  short  round  into  the  fields.  Agnes 
went  there,  as  though  she  wanted  to  get  to  a 
by  place  to  talk  more  freely,  and  Perpetua 
followed  her.  As  soon  as  they  had  turned 
the  corner,  and  were  in  a  place  whence  no- 
thing could  be  seen  which  was  passing  at 
Don  Abbondio's  door,  Agnes  coughed  loudly. 
This  was  the  signal,  Renzo  understood  it, 
pressed  the  arm  of  Lucia  to  encourage  her, 
and  both  of  them  on  the  tips  of  their  toes, 
turned  also  their  corner,  creeping  closely  to 
the  wall,  reached  the  door,  and  opened  it 
gently ;  first  one,  and  then  the  other  silently 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


47 


stooping  down,  glided  into  the  hall,  where 
the  two  brothers  were  waiting  for  them. 
Renzo  replaced,  without  making  the  slight- 
est noise,  the  latch  of  the  door,  and  all 
four  went  up  the  stairs,  making  not  more 
noise  than  would  be  made  by  two.  Being 
arrived  upon  the  landing,  the  two  brothers 
went  to  the  door  of  the  room  which  was  on 
the  side  of  the  staircase,  and  the  lovers  kept 
close  to  the  wall. 

"  Deo  gratias,"  said  Tonio,  with  a  clear 
voice. 

"  Tonio,  eh !  enter,"  answered  a  voice  from 
within. 

Tonio  opened  the  door  just  enough  to  let 
himself  and  his  brother  in,  one  at  a  time. 
The  ray  of  light  that  burst  at  once  through 
the  opening,  and  fell  upon  the  dark  floor  of 
the  landing,  made  Lucia  tremble  as  if  she  was 
discovered.  The  brothers  having  entered, 
Tonio  closed  the  door  behind  him,  the  lovers 
remaining  immoveable  in  the  dark,  their  ears 
stretched  out,  and  holding  their  breath :  the 
loudest  noise  that  was  heard  was  the  continual 
beating  of  the  poor  heart  of  Lucia. 

Don  Abbondio,  as  we  have  said,  was  seated 
in  an  old  arm  chair,  by  the  faint  light  of  a  small 
lamp,  wrapped  up  in  a  worn  symar  or  gown, 
with  the  upper  part  of  his  head  buried  in  an 
old  cap,  in  which  his  face  was  set  as  in  a 
frame.  Two  of  his  grizzly  locks  had  escaped 
from  his  cap,  and  his  thick  eyebrows,  musta- 
chios,  and  a  grey  tuft  on  his  chin,  were  hparily 
stuck  in  his  embrowned  and  wrinkled  visage, 
and  somewhat  resembled  those  snowy  look- 
ing tufts  of  bushes,  which  are  seen  growing 
on  the  side  of  a  steep  by  the  pale  light  of  the 
moon. 

"  Ah,  ah,  "  was  his  salutation,  whilst  he  took 
off  his  spectacles  and  placed  them  in  the 
leaves  of  the  book. 

"  Your  worship  will  say  I  am  come  late," 
said  Tonio,  bowing,  as  did  also  Gervaso  in  a 
clumsy  way. 

"  Certainly,  it  is  late :  late  in  every  sense. 
Do  you  know  that  I  am  sick  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it." 

"  You  must  have  heard  that  I  am  sick,  and 
I  don't  know  when  I  shall  be  able  to  go  out. 
But  why  have  you  brought  that — that — young 
fellow — with  you  ?" 

"  Only  for  company,  your  worship." 

"  Well,  well,  let  us  see." 

"Here  are  five  and  twenty  new  pieces, 
those  with  Saint  Ambrose  on  horseback," 
said  Tonio,  taking  a  purse  tied  in  a  knot  from 
his  pocket. 

"Let  us  see,"  replied  Don  Abbondio,  and 
taking  the  purse,  he  put  his  spectacles  on, 
untied  it,  took  out  the  money,  turned  it,  re- 
turned it,  counted  it,  and  found  it  all  right." 

"  Now,  your  worship  will  please  to  give  me 
the  necklace  of  myTecla." 

"  That  is  correct,"  replied  Don  Abbondio, 
and  going  to  a  closet  took  out  a  key,  and 
looking  round  as  if  to  see  no  lookers  on  were 
near  him,  opened  another  closet,  filling  the 


entrance  of  it  with  his  person,  putting  his 
head  in  to  look,  and  reaching  with  his  arm  to 
take  out  the  pledge.  Having  got  it,  he  lock- 
ed the  door,  opened  the  paper,  and  saying, 
"  It  is  all  right,"  folded  it  up  again,  and  de- 
livered it  to  Tonio. 

"Now,"  said  Tonio,  "have  the  goodness 
to  put  a  little  black  upon  the  white." 

"  This,  too,"  said  Don  Abbondio,  "  they 
understand  every  thing.  Eh,  how  suspicious 
the  world  has  got  to  be !  Don't  you  trust 
me  ?" 

"  How  your  worship  ?  Don't  I  trust  you  ? 
You  do  me  injustice.  But  as  my  name  is  in 
the  book,  on  the  debtor's  side — as  your  wor- 
ship has  had  the  trouble  to  write  once,  so  life 
and  death  are " 

"  Very  well,  very  well,"  interrupted  Don 
Abbondio,  and  grumbling,  he  drew  towards 
him  a  small  case  that  was  on  the  table,  took 
some  paper,  pen  and  ink,  and  began  to  write, 
repeating  over  all  the  words,  as  they  came 
from  his  pen.  In  the  meantime,  Tonio  made 
a  sign  to  Gervaso,  and  both  of  them  placed 
themselves  before  the  table,  so  as  to  hide  the 
door  from  the  curate  whilst  he  was  writing. 
And  as  if  from  pure  idleness,  they  began  to 
scrape  and  rub  tne  floor  with  their  feet,  as  a 
sign  to  the  lovers  to  enter,  and  to  conceal  the 
noise  of  their  feet  when  they  should  enter. 
Don  Abbondio  was  so  taken  up  with  his  wri- 
ting that  he  paid  no  attention  to  any  thing  else. 
At  the  scraping  of  their  feet,  Renzo  took  the 
arm  of  Lucia,  pressed  it  to  give  her  courage, 
and  moved,  drawing  her,  all  trembling,  behind 
him,  and  incapable  of  moving  alone. 

Softly  they  entered  the  room,  on  the  tips  of 
their  feet,  keeping  in  their  breath,  and  placed 
themselves  benind  the  two  brothers.  In  the 
meantime,  Don  Abbondio,  having  finished  the 
receipt,  read  it  over  again  attentively,  without 
raising  his  eyes  from  the  paper,  and  folding  it 
up,  said,  "  Will  you  be  satisfied  now  ?"  And 
taking  his  spectacles  from  his  nose  with  one 
hand,  and  reaching  out  the  paper  with  the 
other,  he  lifted  up  his  face.  Tonio,  extending 
his  right  hand  to  take  it,  drew  on  one  side, 
and  Gervaso  at  a  sign  from  him  drew  to  ano- 
ther, so  that,  like  the  scenes  which  sometimes 
occur  on  the  theatre,  Renzo  and  Lucia  ap- 
peared in  the  centre. 

Don  Abbondio  looked,  and  was  astounded  ; 
he  became  aware  of  the  trap  he  had  fallen  into, 
was  enraged,  but  in  a  moment  came  to  a  reso- 
lution All  this  took  place  whilst  Renzo  was 
saying,  "  Signer  curate,  this  is  my  wife  in  the 
presence  of  these  witnesses." 

His  lips  were  not  yet  closed,  ere  Don  Ab- 
bondio let  fall  the  receipt,  laid  hold  of  the 
lamp  with  his  left  hand,  lifted  it  up,  seized 
with  his  right  the  cloth  that  covered  the  table, 
and  drew  it  off  in  a  ferocious  manner,  throw- 
ing to  the  ground,  book,  paper,  inkstand,  sand- 
box and  every  thing  else,  and  rushing  from  his 
chair  and  the  table,  got  near  to  Lucia.  The 
poor  young  creature,  all  trepidation,  had  scarce 
with  her  gentle  voice,  got  out,  "  And  this — " 


48 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


when  Don  Abbondio  most  uncourteously  flung 
the  cloth  over  her  head  and  face,  to  preven 
her  from  pronouncing  the  whole  formula 
then  letting  the  lamp  fall  from  his  left  hand,  he 
used  that  also  to  wrap  the  cloth  so  tightly  over 
her  face  that  he  almost  suffocated  her ;  scream- 
ing out  in  the  meantime,  like  a  wounded  bull, 
"  Perpetua,  Perpetua,  treason,  help !" 

The  dying  lamp  sent  from  the  floor  a  faim 
and  flickering  glare  upon  Lucia, who  altogether 
terrified,  did  not  even  attempt  to  disengage 
herself,  and  who  might  be  thought  to  resemble 
a  statue  modelled  from  chalk,  over  which  the 
sculptor  had  thrown  a  wet  cloth.  The  lighl 
having  expired,  Don  Abbondio  left  the  poor 
girl,  and  groping  about  for  a  door  that  led  to 
another  room,  found  it  and  fastened  himself 
in,  screaming  all  the  time,  "  Perpetua,  treason, 
help  ;  out  of  this  house,  out  of  this  house." 
In  the  first  room  every  thing  was  confusion. 
Renzo,  groping  about  with  nis  hands  to  get 
hold  of  the  curate,  as  if  he  was  playing  at 
blindman's  buffi  reached  the  door,  and  thumped 
at  it,  calling  out,  "  Open,  open,  don't  make 
such  a  screaming."  Lucia  called  Renzo  with 
a  faint  voice,  and  said  in  a  supplicating  man- 
ner to  him,  "  Let  us  go,  let  us  go,  for  the  love 
of  God,"  Tonio,  on  the  fleor,  all  fours,  was 
scraping  about,  hoping  to  lay  his  paws  on  the 
receipt,  whilst  Gervaso,  terrified,  was  jumping 
about  and  screaming,  seeking  for  the  door  that 
opened  upon  the  landing  in  order  to  save  him- 
self. 

In  the  midst  of  this  confusion,  we  cannot 
forbear  stopping  an  instant  to  make  a  reflect- 
ion. Renzo,  whom  we  find  kicking  up  a  pro- 
digious noise,  in  the  night  time,  in  another 
man's  house,  into  which  he  had  introduced 
himself  in  an  underhanded  way,  and  who  kept 
the  master  of  the  house  besieged  in  a  room, 
has  all  the  appearance  of  an  oppressor ;  yet  at 
the  end  of  the  story  he  turns  out  to  be  the  op- 
pressed. Don  Abbondio,  surprised,  put  in 
night,  terrified,  whilst  he  was  occupied  with 
his  own  affairs,  would  seem  to  be  a  persecuted 
man,  yet  in  reajity  it  was  he  who  inflicted  the 
injury.  That  is  the  way  things  often  go  in 
the  world — I  mean  to  say,  it  is  the  way  they 
used  to  go  in  the  seventeenth  century. 

The  besieged,  perceiving  that  the  enemy 

£ve  no  signs  of  decamping,  opened  a  window 
it  looked  towards  the  sacristy  or  vestry 
room,  and  began  to  scream  out,  "  assistance, 
help,  help."  The  moon  shone  in  the  most  beau- 
tiful manner,  the  shadow  of  the  church,  and  at 
a  greater  distance  the  long  and  acute  figure  of 
the  steeple,  was  extended,  dark,  immoveable 
and  distinct,  upon  the  grassy  and  shining 
lawn  of  the  sacristy,  every  object .  could  be 
discerned  as  clear  as  by  daylight.  But  as  far 
as  the  sight  could  extend,  there  was  no  indi- 
cation of  a  living  soul.  Contiguous,  however, 
to  the  side  wall  of  the  church,  and  exactly  on 
that  side  which  looked  towards  the  parsonage, 
was  a  small  habitation,  a  hole  of  a  place  where 
the  sacristan  slept.  This  man  being  awakened 
by  this  unusual  alarm,  started  in  nis  bed,  got 


up,  opened  a  sort  of  glazed  paper  window,  put 
his  head  out,  and  with  his  eye-lids  yet  glued 
together,  called  out,  "  What's  the  matter  ?" 

"  Run,  Ambrosio,  help,  people  in  the  house," 
Don  Abbondio,  kept  screaming  towards  him. 
"I'll  come  directly,"  replied  he,  drawing  in 
his  head  and  closing  the  window;  and  although 
half  asleep,  and  more  than  half  frightened,  he 
hit  upon  an  expedient,  at  once  to  give  more 
help  than  he  was  asked  for,  without  running 
his  own  head  into  Don  Abbondio's  troubles,  of 
whatever  nature  they  might  be.  Seizing  his 
breeches  which  were  upon  the  bed,  and  sho- 
ving them  under  his  arm  like  a  dress  hat,  he 
scrambled  quickly  down  his  wooden  ladder, 
ran  to  the  steeple,  seized  hold  of  the  rope  of 
the  largest  of  two  bells  hung  there,  and  be- 
gan to  pull  away. 

Tong,  tong,  tong,  tong,  in  an  instant  all  the 
country  people  were  sitting  upright  in  bed, 
and  all  the  lads  that  were  stretched  out  on  the 
hay,  hung  out  their  ears  and  sprung  out  upon 
their  feet.  "  What's  the  matter,  what's  the 
matter  ?  The  steeple  bell  ?  Fire  ?  Thieves  ? 
Banditti  ?"  Then  some  of  the  women  began  to 
pray  their  husbands  not  to  stir,  to  let  the 
others  go ;  some  get  up,  and  go  to  the  window ; 
the  poltroons,  as  if  they  had  yielded  to  the  en- 
treaties of  their  wives,  crept  under  the  blankets 
again.  The  bold  and  the  more  curious  ran  for 
their  pitchforks  and  harquebusses,  to  go  to  the 
parsonage,  whilst  others  merely  looked  on. 

But  before  these  people  had  got  together, 
indeed  before  they  were  well  awake,  the  noise 
had  reached  the  ears  of  others  who  were 
watching,  not  far  off,  on  foot,  and  in  their 
clothes.  The  Bravos  in  one  place,  Agnes 
and  Perpetua  in  another.  We  will  tell,  first, 
what  was  done  by  those  from  the  moment  we 
left  them,  partly  in  the  ruined  house,  and 
partly  at  the  inn.  The  three,  when  they  per- 
ceived all  the  cottages  were  closed,  and  the 
streets  deserted,  left  the  inn,  as  if  they  were 
sjoing  a  considerable  distance,  making  without 
iny  noise,  a  reconnoissance  through  the  village, 
to  ascertain  if  every  body  was  retired ;  and  in 
fact,  they  did  not  meet  a  living  soul,  or  hear 
the  slightest  noise.  They  also  passed,  and 
still  more  softly,  before  our  poor  cottage,  the 
most  noiseless  of  them  all,  because  there  was 
nobody  within.  From  thence  they  went 
straight  to  the  ruin,  to  make  their  report  to 
GJriso.  Immediately  he  placed  on  his  head  a 
arge  old  hat,  and  upon  his  shoulders  a  pil- 
grim's cloak  of  waxed  cloth,  sprinkled  over 
with  cockle  shells,  took  in  his  hand  a  pilgrim's 
staff,  and  saying,  "  Now  let  us  go  like  orave 
ellows,  silence,  and  attention  to  orders,"  he 
moved,  and  the  rest  followed  him. 

In  a  short  time  they  reached  the  cottage, 
>y  a  road  opposite  to  that  by  which  our  nup- 
ial  party  went  on  their  expedition.  Griso 
cept  his  troop  a  little  in  the  rear,  preceding 
hem  himself,  with  a  view  to  explore,  and 
inding  the  street  deserted,  and  every  thing 
till  out  of  doors,  he  made  two  of  his  ruffians 
come  forward,  ordered  them  to  get  over  the 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


49 


wall  quietly  which  enclosed  the  court  yard, 
and  when  within,  to  conceal  themselves  in  a 
corner  behind  a  thick  fig  tree,  which  he  had 
remarked  in  the  morning.  Having  done  this, 
he  tapped  gently  at  the  door,  intending  to  say 
that  a  pilgrim  who  had  lost  his  way  desired 
lodgings  until  morning.  No  one  answering,  he 
knocked  a  little  louder,  but  all  was  still.  He 
then  called  a  third  rogue,  made  him  get  into 
the  court  yard  like  the  others,  with  directions 
to  draw  the  nails  from  the  chain  that  held  the 
bolt  within,  that  they  might  have  free  ingress 
and  egress.  Every  thing  was  executed  with 
great  caution,  and  in  the  best  way.  Having 
gone  to  call  the  others,  he  made  them  enter 
with  him,  sent  them  to  post  themselves  with 
the  first,  shut  the  door  gently,  placed  two 
sentinels  within,  and  goes  straight  to  the  door 
of  the  house.  There,  too,  he  knocked,  waited 
— he  might  well  wait !  Having  opened  this  door 
likewise,  still  no  one  within  says,  who's  there  ? 
No  one  moves  ;  what  a  famous  chance  !  for- 
wards, then.  "  St."  having  called  the  men 
behind  the  fig  tree,  he  walked  with  them  into 
the  room  on  the  ground  floor,  where  in  the 
morning  he  had  miquitously  begged  their 
morsel  of  bread  from  them.  He  now  took  out 
tinder,  flint,  steel  and  matches,  and  lit  a  small 
lamp  he  had  brought,  entered  another  room  in- 
side, to>  see  if  there  was  any  one  there,  and 
found  no  one.  He  now  went  to  the  foot  of  the 
stairs,  looked,  listened ;  all  was  solitude  and 
silence. 

Leaving  two  other  sentinels  below,  he  told 
Grignapoco  to  come  with  him ;  a  Bravo  of  the 
Bergamasc  country,  who  was  to  do  all  the 
threatening,  the  coaxing,  the  commanding,  in 
fact  who  was  to  do  all  the  talking  of  the  party, 
so  that  his  dialect  might  induce  Agnes  to  be- 
lieve the  expedition  came  from  those  parts. 
With  this  fellow  at  his  side,  and  the  others  be- 
hind, Griso  mounted  the  staircase,  softly,  softly, 
cursing  in  his  heart  every  step  that  made  a 
noise,  every  tread  of  the  ruffians  that  broke  the 
silence.  At  length  he  reached  the  top.  Here 
the  hare  lies.  Gently  he  pushed  the  door  of 
the  first  room  he  met,  it  opens  a  little,  he  looks 
in,  all  is  dark  :  he  applies  his  ear  to  discover 
if  any  one  snores,  breathes,  or  moves ;  he  hears 
nothing.  In  he  goes ;  placing  the  lantern  be- 
fore his  face,  that  he  may  see  without  being 
seen;  he  opens  the  door  wide,  perceives  a 
bed :  the  bed  is  made  and  quite  smooth,  the 
linen  neatly  turned  down,  and  resting  on  the 
bolster.  Shrugging  his  shoulders,  he  turns  to 
his  troop,  and  makes  a  sign  to  them  that  he  is 
going  to  examine  the  other  room,  and  that 
they  Jceep  behind  him  without  making  a  noise : 
he  goes  there,  examines  in  the  same  way,  and 
finds  exactly  the  same  state  of  things.  "  What 
the  devil  is  all  this?"  said  he,  then  openly^ 
"  has  some  rascally  traitor  been  betraying' 
us?"  All  now,  with  less  caution,  began  to 
examine,  to  fumble  in  every  corner,  and 
ended  by  turning  the  house  topsy  turvy. 

Whilst  these  matters  were  going  on,  the 
two,  who  were  on  guard  at  the  gate  of  the 
7 


court  yard  next  the  street,  hear  approaching, 
from  a  direction  beyond  the  street,  a  light  foot 
walking  and  drawing  near ;  supposing  that, 
whoever  it  was,  they  would  pass  straight  on, 
they  remained  silent,  and  kept  themselves 
diligently  on  the  alert.  The  footstep  ceased, 
as  soon  as  it  reached  the  gate.  It  was  Meni- 
co,  who  came  in  haste,  sent  by  father  Christo- 
pher, to  warn  the  two  women  for  the  love  of 
Heaven  to  escape  immediately  from  the  cot- 
tage, and  take  refuge  at  the  convent,  because 
— we  know  the  because.  Taking  hold  of  the 
handle  of  the  bolt  to  knock,  he  found  it  loose 
in  his  hand,  broken,  and  the  nails  drawn. — 
What  can  this  be  ?  thought  he,  and  thrusts  the 
door  quite  frightened ;  it  opens,  he  puts  a  foot 
cautiously  within,  and  immediately  feels  him- 
self seized  by  both  arms,  and  hears  two  low 
voices  say  to  him,  right  and  left,  "  be  silent, 
hold  your  tongue,  or  you  die."  He  on  the 
contrary  screaming  out,  one  of  the  villains, 
gave  him  a  great  slap  on  the  mouth,  whilst 
the  other  put  his  hand  to  his  knife  to  frighten 
him.  The  boy  trembled  like  a  leaf,  and  gave 
over  Screaming;  but  all  at  once,  in  his  stead, 
and  in  a  very  different  sort  of  tone,  the  first 
twang  of  the  church  bell  broke  out,  fol- 
lowed up  by  that  tempest  of  strokes  that 
pealed  upon  the  night  after  it.  He  who  is  in 
the  wrong  box  always  knows  it,  says  a  Mila- 
nese proverb  ;  each  of  these  scoundrels  thought 
he  heard  the  bell  repeat  his  name,  his  Chris- 
tian name,  and  his  family  name  ;  they  let  go 
the  arms  of  Menico,  draw  back  their  own  in 
a  rage,  open  their  hands  and  mouths  wide 
open,  look  in  each  other's  faces,  and  run  to 
the  house,  where  the  major  part  of  the  troop 
was.  Menico  cleared  out,  and  took  to  his 
legs  in  the  direction  of  the  steeple,  where  he 
had  good  reasons  for  supposing  he  should 
meet  with  some  body  or  other. 

Upon  the  rest  of  the  villains,  who  were 
roving  about  the  house  from  top  to  bottom, 
the  terrible  sound  of  the  church  bell  made  the 
same  impression  :  they  confounded,  they  em- 
barrassed, they  rushed  against  each  other, 
each  one  sought  the  shortest  way  to  reach  the 
door.  And  yet  they  were  all  proved  men, 
and  habituated  to  show  their  faces ;  still  they 
could  not  hold  up  against  an. undefined  dan- 
ger, and  of  which  they  had  not  had  the  slightest 
glimpse  before  it  had  so  suddenly  come  upon 
them.  All  the  superiority  of  Griso  was  ne- 
cessary to  keep  them  together,  and  prevent  a 
retreat  being  turned  to  a  flight. 

As  a  dog  escorting  a  herd  of  swine,  runs 
now  here,  now  there,  after  those  that  are 
astray,  bites  one  by  the  ear,  and  draws  it  back 
into  the  herd,  seizes  another  by  the  snout,  and 
barks  at  a  third,  that  at  the  same  moment  is 
leaving  the  ranks,  so  the  pilgrim  seizes  one 
of  them  by  the  tuft,  just  as  he  was  reaching 
the  door,  and  drags  him  back;  drives  back 
with  his  staff  first  one  and  then  another,  that 
were  near  him,  cries  out  to  the  rest  that 
are  running  they  know  not  where,  so  that  at 
last  he  assembled  them  all  in  the  centre  of  the 


50 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


court  yard.  "  Halt !  halt !  pistols  in  hand, 
knives  ready,  all  together,  and  then  we  go, 
that's  the  way.  Who  do  you  think  will  touch 
us,  if  we  all  keep  together,  you  wicked  devils, 
you  ?  But  if  we  let  ourselves  be  caught  one 
by  one,  why  even  these  country  bumpkins 
will  give  it  to  us.  For  shame  !  keep  behind 
me,  and  keep  close."  After  this  short  ha- 
rangue, he  placed  himself  in  front,  and  went 
out  first.  The  cottage,  as  we  have  stated, 
was  at  the  end  of  the  village,  Griso  took  the 
road  that  led  away  from  it,  and  all  kept  behind 
in  good  order. 

Let  us  let  them  go,  whilst  we  turn  back  a 
step  or  two  to  take  up  Agnes  and  Perpetua, 
whom  we  have  placed  there  behind  a  certain 
corner.  Agnes  had  contrived  to  get  her  friend 
as  far  away  from  Don  Abbondio's  as  it  was 
possible,  and  up  to  a  certain  point  the  matter 
went  on  pretty  well ;  but  all  at  once,  Perpetua 
recollected  that  the  door  was  left  open,  and 
wanted  to  go  back.  There  was  no  remedy ;  and 
Agnes,  that  she  might  create  no  suspicion,  had 
been  obliged  to  turn  about  also,  and  go  behind 
her,  endeavoring,  nevertheless,  to  engage  her 
attention,  every  time  her  imagination  appeared 
warmed  up  with  the  story  ot  the  matrimonies 
of  by-gone  days.  She  pretended  to  give  her 
the  greatest  attention,  and  from  time  to  time  to 
show  her  how  much  interest  she  felt  in  the 
affair,  and  to  encourage  this  gossiping,  said, 
"  Certainly,  now  I  understand,  that  is  quite 
right,  nothing  can  be  clearer,  and  then  ?  and 
he?  and  you?"  During  this  she  held  another 
colloquy  with  herself. — Have  they  got  off  by 
this  time  ?  or  are  they  yet  in  the  house  ?  What 
boobies  we  were  all  three,  not  to  have  con- 
certed some  signal  for  me  when  the  affair  had 
succeeded !  What  a  stupid  mistake !  But  it  is 
over ;  now  it  will  be  better  to  keep  amusing 
her  as  well  as  I  can,  at  the  worst  it  will  be  a 
little  time  lost.  Thus,  sometimes  stopping, 
sometimes  going  on,  they  at  last  got  back  not 
far  from  Don  Al>bondio  s  house,  which,  how- 
ever, was  not  to  be  seen  on  account  of  the 
corner;  and  Perpetua,  finding  herself  in  a 
very  important  part  of  her  narration,  permitted 
herself  to  be  detained  without  resistance,  in- 
deed, without  being  aware  of  it ;  when,  sud- 
denly, was  heard  echoing  from  above,  in  the 
immoveable  void  of  the  air,  through  the  vast 
silence  of  night,  that  first  enraged  scream  of 
Don  Abbondio,  "  help !  help !" 

"  Mercy  !  what  has  happened  ?"  cried  out 
Perpetua,  and  wanted  to  run. 

"  What  is  it,  what  is  it  ?"  said  Agnes,  pulling 
her  back  by  her  gown. 

"  Misery !  hav'nt  you  heard  ?"  answered 
she,  getting  away  from  her. 

"  What  is  it,  what  is  it,"  repeated  Agnes, 
grasping  her  by  the  arm. 

"Devil  of  a  woman  !"  exclaimed  Perpetua, 
flinging  her  off  to  get  at  liberty,  and  to  be  able 
to  run.  Just  then,  further  off,  in  a  finer  key, 
and  more  instantaneous,  the  screaming  of 
Menico  was  heard. 

"Mercy!"   cried  Agnes  also  now,  and 


went  full  gallop  after  Perpetua.  Scarce  had 
they  lifted  their  heels,  when  the  church  bell 
began,  one,  two,  three,  and  kept  pealing 
away :  if  they  had  wanted  any  spurs,  these 
would  have  been  sufficient.  Perpetua  arrived 
first  by  two  paces ;  whilst  she  was  reaching 
out  her  hand  to  the  door  to  throw  it  open,  it 
suddenly  opened  from  within,  and  behold  upon 
the  threshold,  Tonio,  Gervaso,  Renzo  and  Lu- 
cia, who,  having  found  the  stairs,  had  got 
down  them  by  jumps,  and  hearing  those 
strokes  on  the  bell,  were  running  off  in  a  fright 
to  put  themselves  in  safety. 

"  What  is  it  ?  what  is  if?"  asked  Perpetua, 
out  of  breath,  of  the  brothers — who  answered 
her  by  running  against  her,  and  pushing  off 
"  And  you !  how !  what  are  you  doing  here  ?" 
she  asked  of  the  other  couple  as  soon  as  she 
knew  them ;  but  they,  too,  went  on  without 
answering  her.  Perpetua,  hastening  where 
she  was  most  wanted,  asked  no  further ;  she 
pushed  eagerly  into  the  house,  and  groped  her 
way  to  the  staircase. 

The  two  lovers,  who  remained  yet  be- 
trothed, found  Agnes  before  them  in  an  agony 
of  vexation.  "An,  here  you  are!"  said  she, 
bringing  the  words  out  with  an  effort.  "How 
did  the  affair  go  ?  what  is  that  bell  about  ?  I 
think  I  heard " 

"  Let  us  go  home,  let  us  go  home,"  said 
Renzo,  "before  the  people  come."  And  on 
they  went,  when,  lo !  Menico,  on  the  full  run, 
comes  up,  recognizes  them,  stands  before 
them,  and  yet  trembling,  with  a  voice  half 
spent,  cries  out,  "Where  are  you  going? 
back,  back — this  way,  to  the  convent." 

"  What  is  it  thou  that "  began  Agnes. 

"  WKat's  the  matter  ?"  asked  Renzo  ;  Lucia, 
terrified,  stood  Trembling  and  silent. 

"  Why,  the  devil's  got  into  your  house," 
answered  Menico,  out  of  breath ;  "  I  have 
seen  him  myself — they  wanted  to  kill  me — 
father  Christopher  said  so — and  you,  too,  Ren- 
zo, he  said  you  must  come  directly.  I  saw 
them  myself— it's  a  providence  that  I  find  you 
all  here.  I'll  tell  you  when  we  get  out  of 
town." 

Renzo,  who  had  his  wits  about  him  more 
than  any  of  them,  thought  either  this  way  or 
that  they  must  go  immediately,  before  the 
people  came  up,  and  that  the  best  way  was  to 
do  what  Menico  advised;  nay,  commanded 
them  to  do,  with  the  voice  of  one  frightened 
out  of  his  senses.  On  the  road,  then,  and  out 
of  the  confusion  anil  danger,  they  could  ask 
the  little  boy  for  a  clearer  explanation.  "Walk 
before,"  said  he  ;  "  let  us  go  with  him,"  said 
he  to  the  women.  They  turned,  rapidly  drew 
near  to  the  church,  passed  the  sacristy,  where 
by  the  favor  of  Heaven  there  was  not  a  living 
soul,  entered  a  narrow  street  that  separated 
the  church  and  the  house  of  Don  Abbondio, 
and  getting  into  the  first  lane  they  met  with, 
took  to  the  fields. 

They  had  perhaps  not  got  fifty  paces,  when 
the  people  began  to  draw  nigh  to  the  sacristy, 
and  were  increasing  in  numoer.  They  looked 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


51 


in  each  other's  faces,  every  one  had  something 
to  ask  about,  no  one  an  answer  to  give.  The 
first  who  arrived  ran  to  the  church  door — it 
was  shut.  They  ran  to  the  belfrey,  and  one 
of  them  clapping  his  mouth  to  a  sort  of  loop- 
hole there  was  in  the  wall,  bawled  out,  "  What 
the  devil  is  the  matter?"  Ambrosio,  as  soon  as 
he  heard  a  voice  he  knew,  let  go  the  rope,  and 
hearing  from  the  rumor  that  mere  was  a  con- 
course of  people  without,  answered,  "I'll 
come  and  open  the  door."  In  haste  he  slip- 
ped on  the  garment  he  had  carried  away  un- 
der his  arm,  came  through  to  the  church  door 
and  opened  it. 

"  What  is  all  this  uproar  about  ?  What's  the 
matter  ?  Where — who  is  it  ? " 

"  How,  who  is  it?"  said  Ambrosio  holding 
the  door  with  one  hand,  and  with  the  other 
hitching  up  the  article  of  dress  he  had  put  on 
in  such  a  hurry,  "  What  don't  you  know  ? 
There's  some  people  in  the  curate's  house, 
help,  help."  All  run  to  the  house,  examine  it, 
crowd  near  to  it,  look  above,  listen,  every 
thing  was  quiet.  Others  go  to  the  street  door, 
find  it  shut  and  fastened,  they  look  up,  and 
don't  find  a  window  open,  not  the  least  move- 
ment is  heard  within. 

"  Who  is  within  ?  Hollo,  hollo  !  Signer  cu- 
rate !  signer  curate!"  Don  Abbondio,  who, 
as  soon  as  he  was  aware  of  the  flight  of  the 
invaders,  had  closed  the  window  and  retired 
from  it,  and  who  at  that  moment  was  wran- 
gling in  an  under  tone  with  Perpetua,  who  had 
left  him  all  alone  in  his  state  of  trouble,  was 
obliged,  when  he  heard  himself  called  by  the 
people,  to  go  again  to  the  window,  and  behold- 
ing such  powerful  succor  repented  the  having 
invoked  it. 

"  What  has  happened  ?  What  have  they 
done  to  you  ?  Who  are  they  ?  Where  are  they  ? " 
fifty  voices  cried  out  to  him  all  at  once. 

"  Here's  nobody  here  now.  I  thank  you, 
return  home  again,  therefore." 

"  But  who  has  been  here  ?  Where  are  they 
gone  ?  What  has  happened  ?" 

"  Bad  people,  people  that  go  about  by  night, 
but  they  are  fled ;  go  home  again,  it  is  no- 
thing at  all — another  time  my  children — I 
thank  you  for  your  kind  heartedness."  Hav- 
ing said  this  he  shut  the  window  and  retired. 
Now  some  began  to  grumble,  others  to  joke, 
and  some  to  curse ;  some  again  shrugged  up 
their  shoulders  and  went  away,  when  a  man 
arrived  breathless,  and  endeavored  to  force 
out  a  few  words.  This  man  lived  opposite 
almost  to  our  women,  and  having,  dunng  the 
rumor,  gone  to  the  window,  perceived  in  the 
court  yard  of  their  cottage,  the  disordered 
troop  of  Bravos,  when  Griso  was  worrying 
himself  to  bring  them  to  order.  As  soon  as 
he  had  recovered  his  voice,  he  exclaimed, 

"  What  are  you  doing  here,  my  sons  ?  The 
devil  is  not  here,  he  is  at  the  other  end  of  the 
village,  at  the  cottage  of  Agnes  Mondella; 
armed  men  have  got  into  it,  and  it  seems  they 
are  going  to  murder  a  pilgrim — who  knows 
what  the  devil  they  are  going  to  do !" 


"  What  ?  what  ?  what  ?"  And  then  began  a 
tumultuous  consultation. 

"  We  must  go  there  !  We  must  go  and  see  ? 
How  many  of  them  are  they  ?  How  many  are 
we  ?  WTho  are  they  ?  The  consul  !*  The  con- 
sul!" 

"Here  I  am,"  answered  the  consul  from 
the  midst  of  the  crowd,  "  Here  I  am,  but  you 
must  give  me  assistance,  and  you  must  obey. 
Quick,  where  is  the  sacristan  ?  Ring  the  bell, 
ring  the  bell.  Let  one  of  you  immediately  go 
to  Lecco  to  seek  assistance ;  come  here  all  of 
you " 

Now  some  dart  off  through  the  crowd  to  the 
belfry,  and  pull  away ;  great  was  the  tumult, 
when  another  man  arrives  who  had  seen  the 
enemy  in  full  retreat,  and  screamed  out  in  his 
turn,  "Run,  my  sons,  thieves  or  banditti  are 
carrying  oft'  a  pilgrim — they  have  already  left 
the  village — after  them — after  them!"  Upon 
this  information,  without  awaiting  the  orders 
of  their  leader,  off  they  start  in  a  mass,  all 
mixed  together,  through  the  village.  As  the 
army  proceeded,  some  of  the  vanguard  slack- 
ened their  pace,  suffered  themselves  to  be 
overtaken,  and  so  fell  into  the  centre  of  the 
body.  Those  in  the  rear  pushed  on  before, 
and  thus  the  confused  swarm  reached  the  in- 
dicated cottage. 

Traces  of  the  invasion  were  recent  and 
manifest ;  the  gate  open,  the  bolt  wrenched 
off,  but  the  invaders  gone.  They  entered  the 
court  yard,  and  approach  the  house  door,  that 
too  is  open  and  the  fastening  broken ;  they 
call  out,  "  Agnes,  Lucia !  The  pilgrim  ! 
Where  is  the  pilgrim  ?  Stephano  must  have 
been  dreaming  about  a  pilgrim — no,  no,  Carl 
Andrea  saw  him  too.  Hollo,pilgrim  !  Agnes  ! 
Lucia !"  no  one  answers.  "  They  have  carried 
them  off!  They  have  carried  them  off !"  Some 
now  raising  their  voices,  proposed  to  follow 
the  ravishers,  it  was  a  nefarious  act,  and 
would  be  the  reproach  of  the  whole  country 
if  every  villain  was  to  be  suffered  with  impu- 
nity to  carry  off  women,  just  as  a  kite  does 
chickens  from  a  deserted  habitation.  A  new 
and  a  more  tumultuous  consultation  now  be- 
gan, but  one  (and  it  never  was  known  exactly 
who  it  was)  spread  a  report  that  Agnes  and 
Lucia  had  taken  refuge  in  one  of  the  houses. 
This  soon  got  into  circulation,  and  was  be- 
lieved ;  a  pursuit  of  the  fugitives  was  no  longer 
spoken  of,  and  the  multitude  broke  up,  each 
one  going  to  his  own  home.  Then  came  whis- 
perings, noises,  knocking  and  opening  of 
doors,  the  appearance  and  disappearance  of 
lamps,  questions  asked  by  women  from  the 
windows,  and  answers  given  from  the  street. 

This  having  become  once  more  deserted  and 
silent,  the  conversations  were  revived  in  the 
houses,  until  they  expired  amidst  a  general 
gaping,  to  be  resuscitated  again  the  next  day. 
No  new  facts,  however,  occurred,  except  that 
on  the  succeeding  morning,  the  consul  standing 
in  his  field,  with  his  chin  resting  upon  his  hands, 

*  A  village  magistrate. 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


his  hands  upon  the  end  of  the  handle  of  his 
spade,  half  buried  in  the  ground,  with  his  foot 
yet  upon  it,  and  musing  within  himself  upon 
the  mysteries  of  the  past  night,  and  of  what 
might  be  expected  of  him,  and  of  what  it  was  his 
duty  to  do,  saw  two  men  approaching  of  a  very 
lively  presence,  their  hair  combed  out  like 
two  kings  of  France  of  the  first  race,  and,  in 
every  thing  else  extremely  resembling  the  two 
men,  who  five  days  before  had  stopped  Don 
Abbondio,  if  they  were  not  the  very  same  per- 
sons. With  still  less  ceremony  they  intimated 
to  the  consul,  that  he  had  better  be  careful 
how  he  made  any  depositions  before  the  po- 
desta  of  what  had  happened,  of  telling  what 
had  taken  place,  even  if  he  should  be  interro- 
gated ;  of  gossiping  about  it,  or  encouraging 
any  gossipings  amongst  the  country  people, 
if  he  entertained  the  slightest  hope  of  regularly 
dying  in  afit  of  sickness. 

Our  wanderers  went  on  for  some  time  at  a 
good  pace,  in  silence,  first  one  and  then  ano- 
ther turning  about  to  look  if  any  body  was 
following  them,  troubled  what  with  the  fa- 
tigue they  endured,  the  struggle  and  suspense 
they  had  gone  through,  the  vexation  of  their 
ill  success,  and  the  confused  apprehension  of 
this  new  inconceivable  danger.  Their  dis- 
tress too  was  increased  by  the  tolling  of  the 
bell,  as  if  in  continual  pursuit  of  them,  and 
which,  although,  as  the  distance  increased,  it 
became  weaker  and  more  obtuse,  seemed  to 
assume  a  more  lugubrious  and  ill-omened 
tone.  At  length  it  ceased.  Finding  them- 
selves in  an  unfrequented  plain,  and  perfectly 
alone,  they  slackened  their  pace,  and  Agnes 
was  the  first  who,  havin^  recovered  her  breath, 
broke  silence,  asking  Renzo  how  the  affair 
had  gone,  and  desinng  Menico  to  tell  her 
what  devil  he  had  seen  at  the  cottage.  Ren- 
zo briefly  related  his  sorrowful  story,  and  all 
three  turned  to  the  boy,  who  detailed  to  them 
more  exactly  the  advice  of  the  father,  and 
narrated  what  he  himself  had  seen,  and  the 
risk  he  had  run,  and  which  was  too  well  con- 
firmed by  the  friar's  message.  The  listeners 
comprehended  more  than  Menico  knew  how 
to  tell  them;  at  this  discovery  they  were 
again  seized  with  a  shivering ;  all  three  atood 
for  a  moment  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and 
exchanged  with  each  other  a  look  of  terror, 
and  with  an  unanimous  movement,  all  placed 
their  hands  on  the  boy,  one  on  his  head,  ano- 
ther on  his  shoulders,  as  if  to  caress  him,  and 
tacitly  thank  him  for  having  been  a  tutelar 
angel  to  them,  to  show  him  how  they  sympa- 
flii/.i'il  with  him,  and  almost  to  ask  him  to 
forgive  them  for  the  anguish  he  had  suffer- 
ed on  their  account,  and  the  danger  he  had 
incurred  to  save  them. 

"  Now,  go  home,  that  Ihy  friends  may  not 
be  distressed  any  longer  on  thy  account,"  said 
Agnes  to  him ;  and  remembering  the  two  par- 
pagliole  she  had  promised  him,  she  produced 
four  and  gave  them  to  him,  adding,  "  enough, 
pray  to  God  that  we  may  meet  soon,  and 
then "  Renzo  gave  him  a  new  livre,  and 


entreated  him  not  to  say  any  thing  about  the 
commission  he  had  received  from  the  friar. 
Lucia  caressed  him  again,  bid  him  good  bye 
with  a  trembling  voice,  and  the  boy  quite  sof- 
tened, saluted  them  and  turned  back.  On- 
wards they  went,  quite  thoughtful,  the  women 
before  and  Renzo  in  the  rear,  as  if  to  guard 
them.  Lucia  held  closely  to  the  arm  of  her 
mother,  and  gently  and  dextrously  declined 
his  proffered  assistance  in  the  awkward  places 
they  came  to,  in  a  journey  so  out  of  the  com- 
mon road.  She  was  ashamed,  even  in  her 
distress,  at  having  been  so  often  alone  with 
him,  and  so  familiarly,  when  she  expected  in 
but  a  few  moments  to  be  his  wife;  now 
that  vision  having  so  sorrowfully  passed  away, 
she  repented  even  this  ;  and  amongst  so  many 
causes  of  trepidation,  she  even  trembled  for 
that  modesty  which  is  not  the  result  of  the 
sad  acquaintance  with  evil,  but  that  delicate 
modesty  which  does  not  even  know  itself: 
like  the  fear  of  the  child  who  trembles  in 
darkness  without  knowing  why. 

"  And  the  cottage  ?"  said  Agnes,  on  a  sud- 
den. But  although  the  care  which  produced 
that  exclamation  from  her  was  an  important 
one,  no  one  replied,  because  no  one  could  give 
her  a  satisfactory  answer.  They  therefore 
continued  their  walk  in  silence,  and  soon 
after  finally  came  out  in  a  small  square  before 
the  church  of  the  convent. 

Renzo  went  to  the  door  of  the  church  and 
pushed  it  very  hard.  The  door  immediately 
opened,  and  the  moonlight  entering  through 
the  space,  illuminated  the  pallid  countenance 
and  the  silver  beard  of  lather  Christopher, 
who  was  standing  there  waiting.  As  soon  as- 
he  saw  that  no  one  was  wanting,  "  God  be 
blessed,"  said  he,  and  made  them  a  sign  to 
enter.  By  his  side  was  another  capuchin, 
the  lay  sacristan,  whom  with  entreaties  and 
arguments  he  had  pursuaded  to  watch  with 
him,  to  leave  the  door  ajar,  and  to  remain 
there  unguarded  to  receive  those  poor  me- 
naced people  :  and  nothing  less  than  the  au- 
thority of  the  father,  and  his  reputation  as  a 
saint,  would  have  sufficed  to  determine  the 
lay  brother  to  a  condescension,  both  inconve- 
nient, dangerous,  and  irregular.  As  soon  as 
they  were  within,  father  Christopher  gently 
shut  the  door.  Then  the  sacristan  could  no 
longer  contain  himself,  and  taking  the  father 
aside,  he  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  but,  father, 
father !  at  night — in  the  church — with  women 
shut  up — the  rules — but  father!"  and  he 
shook  his  head.  Whilst  he  was  articulating 
with  effort  these  words — now  just  see  !  thought 
father  Christopher,  if  it  was  some  ruffian  pur- 
sued, friar  Fazio  would  not  oppose  the  least 
difficulty,  and  a  poor  innocent  that  is  escaping 
from  the  claws  of  the  wolf — "omnia  munda 
mundis,"  he  then  said,  suddenly  turning  to 
brother  Fazio,  and  forgetting  that  he  did  not 
understand  latin.  But  this  lorgetfulness  was 
exactly  what  produced  the  enect.  If  the 
father  had  entered  upon  a  course  of  argument, 
brother  Fazio  would  not  have  been  wanting 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


53 


in  reasons  to  answer  him,  and  Heaven  knows 
when  the  dispute  would  have  been  termi- 
nated. But  hearing  these  grave  words,  bear- 
ing so  mysterious  a  sense,  and  uttered  so  re- 
solutely, it  appeared  to  him  that  they  must 
contain  the  solution  of  all  his  doubts.  He 
was  satisfied,  and  said  "  Very  well,  you  know 
better  than  me,  father," 

"  Confide  in  me,"  answered  father  Christo- 
pher ;  and  by  the  faint  light  of  the  lamp  which 
was  burning  before  the  altar,  he  drew  near  to 
the  refugees,  who  were  standing  there  wait- 
ing, and  said  to  them,  "  My  children  !  thank 
the  Lord  that  he  has  delivered  you  from  so 

great  a  danger.  Perhaps  at  this  moment !" 

And  here  he  began  to  relate  to  them  the  cause 
why  he  had  despatched  the  little  messenger, 
sever  suspecting  that  they  knew  more  about 
it  than  he  did  himself,  and  supposing  that 
Menico  had  found  them  quiet  at  home,  before 
the  Bravos  had  arrived.  No  one  undeceived 
him,  not  even  Lucia,  although  she  had  some 
secret  remorse  for  dissimulating  with  a  man 
of  his  character ;  but  this  was  a  night  full  of 
entanglement  and  duplicity.  "After  this," 
continued  he,  "you  see  my  children,  that  this 
part  of  the  country  is  not  safe  for  you.  It  is 
yours,  you  are  born  here,  you  nave  done 
wrong  to  no  one,  but  God  wills  it  so.  It  is  a 
trial,  my  children ;  bear  it  with  patience,  with 
constancy,  without  rancor,  and  rest  assured 
that  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  say  that 
you  are  contented  with  what  has  happened.  I 
have  thought  of  a  refuge  for  you  in  these  first 
moments.  Soon,  I  hope,  you  will  be  able  to 
return  in  safety  to  your  own  homes ;  in  every 
way  God  will  provide  for  you  for  the  best,  and 
most  certainly  I  will  endeavor  not  to  be  found 
wanting  for  the  favor  I  have  found  with  him, 
choosing  me,  as  he  has  done,  as  his  minister, 
in  the  service  of  you  his  afflicted  ones.  You," 
continued  he,  addressing  himself  to  the  wo- 
men, "  can  stop  at ."  There  you  will 

be  sufficiently  out  of  danger,  and  at  the  same 
time,  not  too  distant  from  your  home.  In- 
quire for  our  convent :  ask  for  the  father  guar- 
dian, give  him  this  letter,  he  will  be  to  you 
another  father  Christopher.  And  thee,  my 
poor  Renzo,  thou  also  must  save  thyself  from 
the  fury  of  another,  as  well  as  from  thy  own. 
Carry  this  letter  to  father  Buenaventura  du  Lo- 
di  at  our  convent,  at  the  eastern  gate  in  Milan. 
He  will  be  a  father  to  thee,  will  give  thee  di- 
rections, will  find  thee  work,  until  the  mo- 
ment when  thou  canst  return  here  to  live 
tranquilly.  Go  to  the  bank  of  the  lake,  near 
the  mouth  of  the  Bione,"  a  mountain  stream 
not  far  from  the  convent,  "  there  thou 'It  find 
a  boat;  call  out — boat — thou  wilt  be  asked 
for  whom  ;  answer  Saint-Francis.  The  boat 
will  then  take  thee,  transport  thee  to  the 
other  bank,  where  thou  wilt  find  a  wagon 
that  will  conduct  thee  straight  on  as  far 
as " 

Whoever  asks  how  father  Christopher  could 
so  soon  have  at  his  disposition  those  means  of 
transportation  by  water  and  by  land,  shows 


that  he  knows  nothing  of  the  influence  a  ca- 
puchin could  acquire,  who  was  reputed  to  be 
a  saint. 

The  next  thing  to  think  of  was  the  custody 
of  the  cottages.  The  father  received  the  keys, 
taking  upon  himself  the  charge  of  delivering 
them  to  those  whom  Renzo  and  Agnes  indi- 
cated to  him.  Agnes,  when  she  gave  up  her 
own,  brought  out  a  great  sigh,  thinking,  that 
at  that  very  moment,  the  cottage  was  open, 
that  the  devil  had  been  inside  of  it,  and  that 
there  was  no  guessing  what  might  be  left  in 
it  to  take  care  of. 

"  Before  you  go,"  said  the  father,  "  let  us 
all  put  up  supplications  to  the  Lord,  that  he 
may  be  with  you  in  your  journey,  and  always, 
and  above  all,  that  he  may  fill  you  with 
strength,  and  with  grace,  to  wish  that  his  will 
may  be  done."  Saying  this,  he  knelt  down  in 
the  middle  of  the  church,  and  all  did  the  same. 
As  soon  as  they  had  prayed  a  few  moments  in 
silence,  he,  with  a  low,  but  distinct  voice,  ar- 
ticulated these  words  :  "  We  pray  thee,  also, 
for  that  wretched  being  who  has"  brought  us 
to  this  pass.  We  should  be  unworthy  of  thy 
mercy,  if  we  did  not  ask  it  for  him  from  our 
hearts,  for  he  has  great  need  of  it.  For  us, 
in  our  tribulation,  we  have  this  comfort, 
Lord — that  we  tread  the  path  in  which  thou 
hast  placed  us.  Our  woes  we  can  offer  up  to 
thee,  and  turn  them  into  gain.  But  he  !  he  is 
thy  enemy.  Unhappy  man  !  he  strives  against 
his  God  !  Have  mercy  upon  him,  Oh  Lord  ! 
touch  his  heart,  make  him  love  thee,  and 
grant  to  him  all  that  happiness  we  would  ask 
tor  ourselves." 

Then  quickly  rising  up,  he  said,  "  Away, 
my  children ;  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  God 
protect  you  ;  may  his  angel  accompany  you  ! 
go!"  As  they  departed,  filled  with  emotions 
that 'cannot  express  themselves  by  words,  and 
that  manifest  themselves  without  them,  the 
father  added,  in  a  low  tone,  full  of  feeling, 
"  My  heart  tells  me  we  shall  soon  see  each 
other  again." 

Certainly,  the  heart,  when  one  attends  to 
it,  has  always  something  to  say  about  the  fu- 
ture. But  what  does  the  heart  know  ?  Scarce 
the  least  thing  of  the  past. 

Without  awaiting  an  answer,  brother  Chris- 
topher withdrew  with  a  hurried  step ;  the  tra- 
velers left  the  church,  and  brother  Fazio 
closed  the  door,  saying  adieu  to  them  in  a  tone 
likewise  of  some  feeling.  Slowly  they  took 
the  road  to  the  bank  that  had  been  named  to 
them,  saw  the  boat  there,  and  having  inter- 
changed the  countersign,  entered  it.  The  boat- 
man thrust  his  oar  against  the  bank,  and  shoved 
the  boat  off;  then,  taking  the  other,  used  both 
his  arms  to  row  them  to  the  opposite  shore. 
Not  a  breath  of  wind  was  stirring.  The  lake 
was  reposing  quietly  and  smoothly,  and  would 
have  appeared  immovable,  but  for  the  tremu- 
lous and  slight  waving  motion  of  the  light  of 
a  fine  moon,  that  was  admiring  herself  in  the 
lake  from  the  midst  of  the  heavens.  No  sounds 
were  heard  save  the  dead  and  gentle  flow  of 


54 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


the  water,  breaking  in  ripples  on  the  gravelly 
shore ;  its  more  distant  murmuring,  as  it  broke 
amidst  the  piles  of  the  bridge,  and  the  measured 
dashing  of  the  two  oars,  which  cutting  the 
azure  surface  of  the  lake  reappeared  together, 
dropping  with  the  fluid,  again  to  be  simulta- 
neously buried  beneath.  The  wave  occasioned 
by  the  advancing  boat  reunited  itself  behind 
the  stern,  and  formed  a  crested  line,  which 
prolonged  itself  as  they  receded  from  the 
shore.  The  passengers,  mute,  with  their  faces 
turned  back,  looked  at  the  mountains  and  the 
country  bathed  in  moonlight,  and  chequered 
here  and  there  by  strong  shades.  Villages, 
houses,  cabins,  were  seen.  The  ample  palace 
of  Don  Rodrigo,  with  its  flat  tower,  elevated 
above  the  miserable  and  crowded  cottages 
on  the  skirt  of  the  promontory,  seemed  like 
some  ferocious  being  standing  in  the  darkness 
over  a  company  recumbent  and  asleep,  watch- 
ing and  meditating  a  crime.  Lucia  saw  it 
and  shuddered;  she  followed  the  slope  of  the 
country  down  with  her  eye  as  far  as  her  own 
village ;  caught  the  extreme  end  of  it ;  per- 
ceived her  cottage,  the  thick  foilage  of  the  fig 
tree  which  almost  shadowed  the  circuit  of  the 
court -yard,  even  the  window  of  her  own  room ; 
and  thus  seated  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
leaning  her  elbow  on  the  gunnel,  she  lowered 
her  face  as  if  to  slumber,  and  wept  in  secret. 

Adieu,  ye  mountains,  rearing  yourselves 
from  the  waters  erect  unto  heaven  !  Unequal 
summits,  known  to  him  who  has  been  brought 
up  amidst  you,  and  impressed  on  his  mind  as 
vividly  as  the  features  of  a  familiar  friend.  Ye 
torrents,  whose  brawling  sounds  come  upon 
his  ear  like  well  known  domestic  voices  :  ye 
scattered  villages,  blanching  the  steeps,  like 
flocks  of  browsing  sheep,  adieu  !  How  sorrow- 
ful is  the  tread  of  him,  who,  reared  among 
you,  must  leave  you  behind.  Even  in  the 
fancy  of  him  who  voluntarily  goes,  led  on  by 
the  hopes  of  future  prosperity,  at  that  moment 
all  the  dreams  of  riches  lose  their  influence  ; 
he  wonders  how  he  could  have  resolved,  and 
would  retrace  his  steps,  were  it  not  for  the 
thought  that  another  day  shall  see  him  return 
in  opulence.  The  further  he  advances  upon  the 
plain,  the  more  his  eye  becomes  wearied  and 
annoyed  by  the  unvarying  space :  the  air  seems 
heavy  and  without  elasticity ;  sad  and  inat- 
tentive he  enters  the  tumultuous  city ;  houses 
joined  to  houses — streets  terminating  in 
streets,  appear  to  impede  his  respiration  ;  and 
standing  before  those  edifices  which  are  the 
admiration  of  the  stranger,  he  recalls  to  his 
mind,  with  restless  partiality,  the  little  field  of 
his  native  place,  ana  that  cottage  he  has  had 
in  his  eye  so  long,  the  future  acquisition 
when  he  returns  enriched  to  his  native  moun- 
tains. 

But  she  who  had  never  cast  beyond  her  na- 
tive mountains  even  a  fugitive  desire,  who  had 
formed  all  her  plans  for  the  future  amongst 
them,  and  who  is  driven  far  away  by  a  perverse 
fortune  !  torn  away  at  once  from  the  most  en- 
dearing habits,  disturbed  in  her  sweetest  hopes, 


leaving  her  own  hills  to  tread  those  paths  of 
the  stranger,  which  she  has  never  desired  to 
know,  and  who  cannot  even  in  imagination  fix 
upon  a  moment  appointed  for  her  return ! 
Adieu,  native  cottage,  where,  seated,  amidst 
her  secret  thoughts,  she  learnt  to  distinguish 
from  the  common  tread,  the  footsteps  of  the  one 
she  awaited  with  a  mysterious  apprehension. 
Adieu,  that  yet  unfrequented  roof,  where,  pas- 
sing, she  had  so  often  cast  a  fugitive  look,  and 
not  without  a  blush :  where  her  mind  indul- 
ged in  soft  anticipations  of  a  life  spent  in  the 
tranquil  and  steady  duties  of  a  wife.  Adieu, 
church,  to  which  her  serene  soul  had  so  often 
returned,  to  sing  the  praises  of  the  Lord, 
where  a  holy  rite  had  been  promised  and  pre- 
pared ;  where  the  secret  wish  of  the  heart  was 
to  have  been  solemnly  blessed,  where  she  was 
to  have  been  commanded  to  love,  and  where 
her  love  was  to  have  been  pronounced  holy. 
Farewell !  Yet  know  that  he  who  placed  you 
in  this  sweet  existence,  is  every  where ;  and 
that  he  never  disturbs  the  contentment  of  his 
children,  but  to  prepare  a  happiness  for  them 
that  is  purer,  ana  less  uncertain. 

Such  was  the  nature,  if  not  exactly  thus,  of 
the  thoughts  of  Lucia,  and  not  very  dissimilar 
the  reflections  of  the  two  other  pilgrims,  whilst 
the  boat  was  drawing  nigh  to  the  right  bank  of 
the  Adda. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  shock  of  the  boat  against  the  bank 
shook  Lucia,  who  after  secretly  wiping  away 
her  tears,  rose  up  as  if  from  sleeping.  Renzo 
got  out  first,  gave  his  hand  to  Agnes,  who 
jumping  ashore,  he  then  assisted  Lucia,  and 
all  three  of  them  returned,  in  a  dejected  man- 
ner, their  thanks  to  the  boatman.  "  Not  at  all, 
not  at  all,  we  are  here  in  this  world  to  help 
one  another,"  he  answered,  and  withdrew  his 
hand  in  a  sort  of  fright  as  if  it  had  been  pro- 
posed to  him  to  rob,  when  Renzo  wanted  to 
put  in  it  some  of  the  money  he  had  about  him, 
and  which  he  had  put  in  his  pocket  that  even- 
ing, with  the  intention  of  generously  gratify- 
ing Don  Abbondio,  as  soon  as  he  had  rendered 
him  a  service,  in  despite  of  himself.  The 
wagon  was  there  ready,  the  guide  saluted  the 
three  expected  passengers,  they  entered  it,  he 
spoke  to  his  horse,  gave  him  a  crack,  and  off 
tney  went. 

Our  author  does  not  describe  that  nocturnal 
journey,  suppresses  the  name  of  the  village 
where  father  Christopher  had  sent  the  two 
women,  and  even  expressly  protests  against 
disclosing  it.  In  the  progress  of  the  story 
however  we  find  the  reason  for  this  conceal- 
ment. The  adventures  of  Lucia  in  that  resi- 
dence are  wrapped  up  in  a  dark  intrigue  of  a 
person  connected  with  a  family,  as  it  appears, 
rather  powerful  at  the  time  the  author  wrote 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


55 


To  give  an  account  of  the  strange  conduct  of 
that  person  in  this  particular  case,  he  has  been 
obliged  to  relate  in  a  succinct  manner,  her  pre- 
vious life,  and  the  family  cuts  that  figure, 
which  any  one  may  see  who  chooses  to  read. 
But  that  which  the  circumspection  of  our  au- 
thor has  induced  him  to  keep  back,  our  dili- 
gence has  enabled  us  to  supply  from  another 
quarter.  A  Milanese  historian*  who  had  to 
speak  of  the  same  person,  does  not  name  her, 
it  is  true,  nor  her  residence  :  but  of  this  last, 
he  says,  that  it  was  an  ancient  and  noble 
burgh,  to  which  no  attribute  of  a  city  was 
wanting  but  the  name  of  one ;  in  one  place 
he  says  the  Lambro  flows  through  it,  in  ano- 
ther that  there  is  an  arch  priest.  From  the 
meeting  of  these  two  extremes  we  draw  the 
conclusion  that  it  was  beyond  all  doubt  Monza. 
In  the  vast  treasure  of  learned  deductions 
more  refined  ones  may  possibly  be  found,  but 
it  may  be  doubted  whether  they  are  more  cer- 
tain. Well  founded  conjectures  too  may  be 
founded  upon  the  name  of  the  family,  but  al- 
though the  conjecture  on  our  part  has  ceased 
to  be  such  for  a  long  time,  we  think  it  better 
to  suppress  it,  rather  than  run  the  risk  of  doing 
wrong  even  to  the  dead,  and  also  to  leave  to 
the  curious  something  to  seek  after. 

Our  travelers  reached  Monza  a  short  time 
after  sunrise  ;  when  the  guide  turned  into  an 
inn,  and  there,  like  a  person  acquainted  both 
with  the  place  and  the  innkeeper,  had  a  room 
assigned  to  them,  and  accompanied  them  to  it. 
With  his  thanks,  Renzo  wished  him  to  receive 
a  reward,  but  he,  like  the  boatman,  looked  for 
one  further  off  and  richer ;  he  also  drew  back 
his  hand,  and  escaping  from  their  kindness, 
went  to  look  after  his  horse. 

After  such  an  evening  as  we  have  described, 
and  such  a  night  as  every  one  may  imagine, 
accompanied  by  such  thoughts,  in  constant 
expectation  of  some  disagreeable  encounter, 
with  more  than  autumnal  sharpness  in  the  air, 
and  with  sufficient  jolting  from  the  old  vehi- 
cle, they  thought  they  would  sit  down  upon  a 
bench  fastened  tq  the  ground,  in  a  room  fur- 
nished as  well  as  circumstances  admitted  of. 
Making  a  frugal  meal  together,  consistent 
with  the  penury  of  the  times,  each  of  the  three 
thought  of  the  feast  that  two  days  before  they 
expected  to  partake  of,  and  they  could  nor1 
but  sigh.  Renzo  would  willingly  have  re- 
mained there  the  whole  day,  to  have  seen  the 
women  in  safety,  and  to  have  rendered  them 
the  first  services ;  but  the  father  had  recom- 
mended to  them  to  send  him  immediately  on 
his  way.  These  directions,  and  a  hundred 
other  reasons,  they  repeated  to  him ;  that  peo- 
ple would  be  censorious,  that  a  prolonged 
separation  would  be  more  painful,  that  he 
could  return  soon  to  give  and  to  receive 
news,  and  they  said  so  much  that  the  youth 
determined  to  depart.  They  concerted  minute- 
ly what  was  to  be  done.  Lucia  did  not  conceal 


*  Joseph!  Repamontii,  liistoria  Patriaj,  decadis  v. 
lib.  6.  cap  3.  page  358. 


her  tears,  Renzo  restrained  his  with  difficulty, 
and  pressing  fervently  the  hand  of  Agnes,  said 
with  a  half  stifled  voice,  "  may  our  next  meet- 
ingbe  happy,"  and  departed. 

The  women  would  nave  been  greatly  em- 
barrassed, but  for  their  kind  guide,  who  had 
orders  to  conduct  them  to  the  convent,  and 
to  aid  them  with  such  directions  and  advice, 
as  they  might  need.  With  him  for  an  escort 
they  took  their  way  to  it,  which,  as  every  one 
knows,  was  distant  a  short  walk  from  Monza. 
Arrived  at  the  gate,  the  guide  rang  the  bell, 
and  asked  for  the  father  guardian,  who  ap- 
peared and  took  the  letter. 

"Oh!  brother  Christopher!"  said  he,  re- 
cognising the  writing.  The  tone  of  his  voice 
and  the  movement  of  his  features  manifestly 
indicated  that  he  was  pronouncing  the  name 
of  an  esteemed  friend.  Our  good  Christopher, 
we  must  say,  in  that  letter,  had  recommended 
the  women  with  much  zeal,  and  described 
their  case  with  much  feeling,  so  that  the  guar- 
dian every  now  and  then  showed  emotions  of 
surprise  and  indignation,  and  raising  his  eyes 
from  the  paper,  he  fixed  them  upon  the  females 
with  an  expression  of  compassion  and  interest. 
Having  read  it  through,  he  remained  some- 
what thoughtful,  and  then  said  to  himself, 
"There  is  no  one  but  the  Signora ;  if  the  Signora 
would  only  take  this  charge  on  herself — " 
Drawing  Agnes  apart  on  the  little  square  be- 
fore the  convent,  he  made  some  inquiries  of 
her,  which  she  satisfied,  and  turning  towards 
Lucia,  said  to  them  both,  "  My  good  women, 
I  will  try,  and  I  hope  to  be  able  to  find  you  an 
asylum,  more  than  safe,  more  than  honored, 
until  God  shall  provide  for  you  in  a  better  way. 
Will  you  come  with  me  ?" 

The  women  reverently  assented,  and  the 
friar  continued,  "  Come  with  me  to  the  mon- 
astery of  the  Signora.  Keep  however  a  little 
distant  from  me,  for  people  take  a  pleasure  in 
saying  idle  things,  and  god  knows  how  many 
they  would  get  up,  if  they  saw  the  father 

guardian  walking  with  a  handsome  young- 

with  females  I  should  say." 

Saying  this,  on  he  went.  Lucia  blushed ; 
the  guide,  looking  at  Agnes,  smiled,  from 
whom  also  a  momentary  giggle  escaped,  and 
as  soon  as  the  friar  had  got  a  short  distance 
from  them,  all  three  followed  his  steps.  The 
women  now  asked  of  the  guide,  wnat  they 
had  not  ventured  to  do  of  the  father  guardian, 
who  this  lady  was. 

"  The  Signora,"  he  replied,  "  is  a  nun,  but 
not  a  nun  like  the  rest  of  them.  Not  that  she 
is  an  Abbess,  or  the  prioress  either,  being,  as 
they  say,  one  of  the  youngest  of  them  :  but 
she  comes  from  the  rib  of  Adam,  and  from 
great  people  in  olden  times,  that  came  from 
Spain,  where  the  nation  is  that  commands 
here.  Wherefore  they  call  her  the  Signora,  by 
way  of  saying  that  she  is  a  very  great  one  ; 
and  all  the  country  calls  her  by  that  name,  for 
they  say  that  in  that  monastery  there  has 
never  been  any  person  like  her;  and  her 
friends,  down  at  Milan  there,  are  great 


56 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


people  too,  of  that  sort  that's  never  in  the 
wrong;  and  in  Monza  still  more,  for  her 
father,  although  he  does  not  live  there,  is  the 
greatest  man  of  the  whole  country,  for  which 
reason  she  can  play  top  and  bottom  in  the 
monastery,  whenever  she  pleases.  She  is 
very  much  respected  too  by  those  out  of  it, 
and  when  she  undertakes  any  thing,  she  is 
sure  to  make  it  succeed  :  and  if  that  good  de- 
vout man  has  leave  to  place  you  in  her  hands, 
and  she  receives  you,  I  can  tell  you  you  will 
be  as  safe  as  if  you  was  upon  the  altar. 

Arrived  at  the  gate  of  the  town,  flanked  at 
that  time  by  an  old  ruined  tower,  and  by  part 
of  an  old  dilapidated  castle,  that  perhaps  ten 
of  my  readers  may  remember  to  have  seen 
standing,  the  father  guardian  stopped,  and 
turned  to  see  if  he  was  followed.  He  then 
passed  it,  and  went  on  to  the  monastery, 
which,  when  he  had  reached,  he  stopped  on 
the  threshold  waiting  for  the  small  party.  He 
requested  the  guide  to  call  at  his  convent  for 
an  answer  to  father  Christopher,  who,  promis- 
ing he  would  do  so,  took  leave  of  the  women, 
and  was  charged  by  them  with  many  thanks 
and  some  commissions  for  father  Christopher. 
The  guardian  now  introduced  the  mother  and 
daughter  into  the  first  court  yard  of  the  mon- 
astery, took  them  to  the  apartment  of  the  nun 
who  acted  as  fattora  or  steward,  to  whom  he 
recommended  them,  and  went  alone  to  solicit 
protection  for  them.  After  a  few  moments 
he  returned,  quite  cheerful,  to  tell  them  to  ac- 
company him  to  the  Signora  and  he  arrived  in 
good  season,  for  both  mother  and  daughter 
had  great  difficulty  in  eluding  the  urgent  and 
prying  questions  of  the  steward.  Crossing  a 
second  court,  he  gave  the  women  a  few  hints 
how  to  conduct  themselves  with  the  Signora." 
She  is  very  well  disposed  towards  3'ou,  and 
can  do  you  a  great  deal  of  good.  Be  humble 
and  respectful,  answer  with  sincerity  the  ques- 
tions she  will  be  pleased  to  put  to  you,  and 
when  you  are  not  interrogated,  leave  every 
thine  to  me." 

They  entered  a  room  on  the  ground  floor, 
from  which  they  passed  to  the  parlor.  Be- 
fore they  entered  it,  the  guardian,  pointing  to 
the  door,  said  in  a  low  voice  to  them,  "  she  is 
here,"  as  if  to  remind  them  of  all  the  advice 
he  had  given  them.  Lucia,  who  had  never 
seen  a  monastery,  having  entered  the  parlor, 
looked  round  for  the  Signora,  that  she  might 
courtesy  to  her,  and  not  perceiving  any  one  be- 
came confused ;  but  seeing  the  father  advance 
towards  the  corner  with  Agnes  behind  him, 
looked  there  and  perceived  a  break  in  the 
wall  almost  square,  resembling  a  half  win- 
dow, closed  up  by  two  thick  and  well  secured 
iron  grates,  distant  about  a  span  from  each 
other,  and  a  nun  standing  behind  them.  Her 
aspect,  which  showed  her  to  be  about  twenty- 
five  years  of  age,  produced,  at  the  first  Idou, 
an  impression  ot  beauty,  but  beauty  that  had 
lost  its  bloom,  and  was  both  faded  and  dis- 
composed. A  black  veil  hanging  down,  and 
bound  horizontally  round  her  head,  fell  to  the 


right  and  left,  a  little  removed  from  her  face ; 
beneath  the  veil  a  very  white  linen  band 
covered  the  half  of  a  brow  of  a  different,  but 
not  inferior  purity :  another  band  in  plaits 
surrounded  the  face,  and  terminated  under 
the  chin  in  a  neck-kerchief,  which  extended 
itself  far  enough  down  the  breast  to  overlap 
the  hem  of  a  black  serge.  But  that  brow 
every  now  and  then  was  gathered  up  into 
wrinkles,  by  a  kind  of  sorrowful  contraction, 
and  then  two  very  black  eye-brows  approach- 
ed each  other  with  a  rapid  movement.  Two 
of  the  darkest  eyes  also  would  sometimes  read 
the  face  of  another,  with  a  sort  of  superb  in- 
vestigation, and  sometimes  would  hastily  be 
cast  to  the  ground  as  if  to  hide  themselves. 
At  certain  moments  an  attentive  observer 
would  have  said  that  they  asked  for  affection, 
for  mutual  correspondence,  lor  compassion  ; 
at  others  they  would  seem  to  express  the 
instantaneous  revelation  of  a  restrained  but  in- 
veterate hatred,  of  I  know  not  what  sort  of 
ferocious  detestation.  When  they  were  im- 
movable and  fixed  without  attention,  some 
might  suppose  they  could  read  in  them  a 
proud  disgust,  others  would  suspect  the 
workings  of  some  hidden  thought,  the  too 
habitual  indulgence  of  a  care  familiar  to  the 
mind,  and  occupying  it  more  than  surround- 
ing objects  did.  Her  pale,  pale  cheeks  had  a 
most  delicate  contour,  out  excessively  attenu- 
ated, and  changed  by  a  slow  decay.  Her  lips, 
though  scarcely  tinged  with  the  palest  rose,  still 
were  conspicuous  by  that  paleness;  their  mo- 
tion, like  that  of  her  eyes,  was  sudden,  lively, 
full  of  expression  and  mystery.  The  well-pro- 
portioned height  of  her  figure  was  obscured 
by  the  habitual  stooping  of  her  carriage,  or 
reappeared  in  a  wasted  thinness,  at  certain 
sudden  movements  she  was  subject  to,  irre 
gular,  and  too  determined  for  a  female,  much 
more  for  a  nun.  Even  in  her  garb  there  was 
something  here  and  there  that  was  studied 
or  was  neglected,  which  announced  a  nun  of 
singular  habits.  Her  mode  of  life  was  uni- 
form, with  certain  habits  of  secular  industry, 
and  from  the  bands  on  her  temples  there 
peeped  out  a  little  curl  of  black  hair,  which 
either  showed  a  forgetfulness  or  a  contempt 
of  the  rule,  which  prescribed  that  those  locks, 
»  hich  had  been  shorn  at  the  solemn  ceremo- 
ny of  profession,  should  always  be  kept  cut. 

These  things  did  not  occupy  the  minds  of 
the  two  women,  who  were  not  accustomed  to 
distinguish  one  nun  from  another;  and  the 
father  guardian,  who  did  not  see  her  now  for 
the  first  time,  was  already  accustomed,  like 
many  others,  to  the  eccentricity  which  ap- 
peared  in  her  dress  and  manners. 

She  was  standing,  at  that  moment,  as  we  have 
said,  near  the  grate,  leaning  upon  it  languidly, 
passing  her  white  finger  through  the  holes  of 
the  grate,  and  curving  her  face  a  little,  as  if  to 
observe  those  who  were  advancing  to  it. 
"  Reverend  mother,  and  most  illustrious  lady," 
said  the  guardian,  stooping  his  face,  and  with 
his  right  hand  extended  on  his  breast,  "  this  is 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


57 


the  poor  young  damsel,  in  whose  favor  you 
have  made  me  hope  for  your  powerful  protec- 
tion, and  this  is  her  mother." 

Both  of  them  courtesied  very  low,  till  the 
Signora  made  a  motion  to  them  to  cease,  and 
said,  turning  to  the  father,  "  I  am  fortunate  in 
being  able  to  do  what  is  agreeable  to  our  good 
friends,  the  capuchin  fathers.  But,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  relate  to  me,  a  little  more  in  detail, 
the  case  of  this  young  maiden,  that  I  may  un- 
derstand what  it  is  best  to  do  for  her." 

Lucia  blushed,  and  hid  her  face  in  her  bo- 
som. 

"  You  must  know,  reverend  mother,"  Ag- 
nes began,  but  the  guardian,  with  a  look,  took 
the  words  out  of  her  mouth,  and  answered, 
"This  young  maiden,  most  illustrious  lady, 
comes  recommended  to  me,  as  I  have  said,  by 
one  of  our  brotherhood.  She  has  been  forced 
to  leave  her  home  secretly,  to  avoid  great  dan- 
gers, and  is  in  want,  for  some  time,  of  an  asy- 
lum, in  which  she  can  remain  unknown,  and 
where  none  may  dare  to  come  to  disturb  her, 
even  when " 

"What  dangers?"  interrupted  the  lady; 
"  Do  me  the  favor,  father  guardian,  not  to  re- 
late the  case  to  me  so  enigmatically.  You 
know  that  we  nuns  love  stories  to  be  told  to 
us  quite  minutely." 

"They  are  dangers,"  answered  the  guar- 
dian, "  that  to  your  pure  ears,  reverend  mo- 
ther, must  be  alluded  to  very  slightly." 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  she  said,  in  a  quick  man- 
ner, and  blushed  a  little.  Was  it  modesty  ? 
Any  one  who  had  observed  the  rapid  expres- 
sion of  vexation  which  accompanied  the  blush, 
might  have  doubted  it ;  and  still  more,  if  they 
had  compared  it  to  that  which  now  and  then 
diffused  itself  over  the  cheeks  of  Lucia. 

"  It  is  enough  to  say,"  resumed  the  guar- 
dian, "that  a  powerful  cavalier — it  is  not 
all  the  great  personages  of  the  world  who  use 
the  gifts  of  God  to  his  glory,  and  to  the  benefit 
of  his  neighbor,  as  you  do,  illustrious  lady — 
a  powerful  cavalier,  after  having  persecuted 
this  young  creature  for  a  long  time  with  un- 
worthy propositions,  seeing  that  they  were 
useless,  had  the  heart  to  persecute  her  openly 
by  force,  so  that  the  poor  girl  has  been  reduced 
to  the  necessity  of  flying  from  her  own  home." 
"  Draw  near  young  woman,"  said  the  Signora 
to  Lucia,  beckoning  her  with  her  finger,  "  I 
know  that  the  father  guardian  is  the  very  mouth 
of  truth,  but  no  one  can  be  better  informed  than 
yourself  of  this  affair.  It  is  from  you  I  must 
learn  whether  this  cavalier  was  an  unwelcome 
persecutor." 

As  far  as  drawing  near  went,  Lucia  obeyed 
her,  but  to  answer  her  was  an  undertaking  of 
a  different  kind.  An  inquiry  into  that  matter, 
even  if  it  had  come  from  one  of  her  equals, 
would  have  thrown  her  into  confusion ;  but 
being  made  by  the  Signora  with  a  certain  arch 
touch  of  incredulity,  she  was  deprived  of  all 
courage  to  answer.  "  Lady — mother — rever- 
end"— she  stammered  out,  and  seemed  not  to 
be  able  to  say  any  thing  else.  Here  Agnes, 
8 


as  one  who,  next  to  her  daughter,  was  cer- 
tainly the  best  informed  on  the  matter,  thought 
herself  authorised  to  come  to  her  succor,". 
"Illustrious  lady,"  said  she,"  "I  can  be  a 
good  witness,  that  this  daughter  of  mine,  hated 
that  cavalier,  as  much  as  the  devil  hates  holy 
water.  I  mean  to  say,  that  he  was  the  devil 
himself:  but  the  lady  will  pardon  me  if  I  talk 
foolishly,  for  we  are  people,  just  as  it  pleases 
God  to  have  us.  The  fact  is,  that  this  young 
girl  was  betrothed  to  a  young  man,  her  equal, 
one  who  fears  God,  and  well  to  do,  and  if  the 
signer  curate  had  been  a  little  more  of  a  man, 
as  I  will  say — I  know  I  am  talking  of  a  reli- 
gious man  ;  but  father  Christopher,  a  friend  of 
the  father  guardian  here,  and  a  devout  man  like 
him,  and  a  man  full  of  charity,  too — if  he  was 
here,  he  would  bear  witness — " 

"  You  are  very  ready  at  talking,  without 
being  asked,"  interrupted  the  lady,  with  a 
haughty  gesture,  and  an  angry  countenance, 
which  almost  deformed  her.  "  Be  silent ;  I 
know  already  that  parents  have  always  an 
answer  prepared  in  the  name  of  their  chil- 
dren." 

Agnes,  mortified,  gave  Lucia  a  look  that 
said, — you  see  what  I  have  got  because  you 
can't  talk.  The  guardian,  with  his  eye  and 
the  motion  of  his  head,  made  signs  to  Lucia 
that  she  must  rouse  herself,  and  not  keep  the 
Signora  in  suspense.  "  Reverend  lady,"  said 
Lucia,  "  what  my  mother  has  told  you  is  the 
simple  truth.  The  youth  who  addressed  me" 
— and  here  she  became  quite  purple, — "  I  ac- 
cepted willingly.  Pardon  me  if  I  talk  boldly, 
but  I  do  it  that  you  may  not  think  ill  of  my 
mother.  And,  as  for  the  cavalier,  (God  for- 
give him,)  I  would  rather  die  than  fall  into 
his  hands.  And,  if,  by  your  charity,  we  are 
placed  in  safety,  since  we  are  reduced  to  be 
so  bold  as  to  ask  an  asylum,  and  to  incommode 
persons  of  worth, — but  the  will  of  God  be 
done, — be  certain,  lady,  that  none  can  pray 
for  you  with  a  truer  heart  than  we  poor  wo- 
men." 

"  I  believe  you,"  said  the  Signora,  with  a 
softened  voice.  "  But,  I'  shall  take  pleasure 
in  hearing  you  when  we  are  alone.  Not  that 
any  other  proofs,  or  other  inducements  are 
wanting  to  me,  to  aid  the  zeal  of  the  father 
guardian,"  she  added,  turning  towards  him 
with  a  studied  politeness.  "Indeed,"  she 
continued,  "  I  have  already  thought,  and  this 
is  what  it  occurs  to  me  is  the  best  that  can  be 
be  done  at  present.  The  fattora  of  the  mo- 
nastery has  placed,  a  few  days  ago,  her  last 
daughter  out.  These  females  can  occupy  the 
room  she  has  left,  and  supply  her  place  in  the 
few  services  she  rendered  in  the  monastery. 
Truly" — and  here  beckoning  to  the  guardian 
to  draw  nigh  to  the  grate,  she  continued  in  a 
low  voice, — "truly,  in  consequence  of  the 
general  scarcity,  there  was  no  intention  of 
substituting  any  body  for  that  young  person ; 
but  I  will  speak  to  the  mother  abbess,  and  a 

word  from  me the  desire,  too,  of  the  father 

guardian In  fine,  the  thing  shall  be  done." 


68 


THE  METROPOLITAN 


The  guardian  began  to  give  thanks,  but  the 
Signora interruptedmm.  " No  ceremonies,  if 
you  please  ;  even  I,  in  an  emergency,  an  ur- 
gent necessity,  should  count  upon  the  assist- 
ance of  the  capuchin  fathers.  For,  indeed," 
she  went  on  with  a  smile,  in  which  there  was 
something  both  jocular  and  bitter,  "  for,  in- 
deed, are  not  we  brothers  and  sisters  ?" 

Having  said  this,  she  called  a  lay  sister, 
(two  of  these  by  a  singular  distinction  were 
assigned  to  her  private  service,)  and  directed 
her  to  inform  the  abbess,  and  afterwards  to 
bring  the  fattora  to  the  door  of  the  cloister, 
in  order  to  make  the  necessary  arrangements 
with  her  and  Agnes.  Having  dismissed  her, 
she  took  leave  of  the  father  guardian,  and  de- 
tained Lucia.  The  guardian  accompanied 
Agnes  to  the  door,  giving  her  new  instructions 
on  the  way,  and  then  went  to  prepare  the  ac- 
count he  had  to  send  to  Father  Christopher. 
She  has  got  a  great  head,  this  lady,  thought 
he  on  the  way — most  curious  person  to  be 
sure  !  But  whoever  knows  how  to  take  her 
in  the  right  humor,  can  do  whatever  he 
pleases  with  her.  My  good  friend  Christo- 
pher will  be  far  from  thinking,  certainly,  that 
I  have  served  him  so  quickly  and  so  well. 
What  an  excellent  man  !  It  can't  be  helped  ; 
he  is  always  cutting  out  some  work  or  another 
for  himself;  but  always  for  the  sake  of  doing 
good.  It  is  well  for  him  that  he  has  found  a 
friend  this  time,  who,  without  any  noise,  any 
bustle,  and  without  so  many  contrivances  has 
conducted  the  affair  into  a  good  port  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye.  That  good  man  Chris- 
topher, how  contented  he  will  be ;  he  will  see, 
too,  that  even  we  are  good  for  something. 

The  Signora,  who  in  the  presence  of  an  old 
capuchin  had  studied  her  gestures  and  her 
words,  being  now  alone  with  an  inexperienced 
rustic  maiden,  did  not  put  so  much  restraint 
upon  herself;  and  her  conversation  became, 
in  a  short  time  so  strange,  that,  instead  of  re- 
lating it,  we  think  it  wm  be  better  to  narrate 
the  previous  history  of  this  unhappy  person ; 
as  much,  at  least,  as  will  explain  what  we 
have  seen  in  her,  which  is  unusual  and  mys- 
terious, and  the  motives  for  her  conduct  in  the 
facts  we  shall  have  to  relate. 

She  was  the  youngest  daughter  of  the  prince 

of ,  a  powerful  Mflanese  nobleman, 

who  passed  for  one  of  the  richest  individuals 
of  the  city.  But  the  unlimited  importance 
he  attributed  to  his  rank  and  title,  induced 
him  to  look  upon  his  substance  as  insufficient, 
and  not  equal  to  maintain  the  dignity  due  to 
his  rank ;  all  his  cares,  therefore,  were  turned 
to  the  preservation  of  his  riches,  such  as  they 
were,  and  to  keep  them  together  as  much  as 
depended  on  himself.  How  many  children 
he  had,  does  not  appear  very  clearly  from  the 
story ;  we  find,  only,  that  the  cadets  of  both 
aexes  were  destined  to  the  cloister,  that  all 
the  wealth  might  belong  to  the  first  born,  he 
who  was  to  perpetuate  the  family,  that  is  to 
say,  he  who  was  to  procreate  children  for  the 
sake  of  tormenting  himself  and  them  in  the 


same  manner.  Our  unhappy  Signora  was  not 
yet  born,  ere  her  fate  was  irrevocably  fixed. 
It  only  remained  to  be  decided  whether  she 
was  to  be  a  monk  or  a  nun :  a  decision  that 
awaited  not  her  consent,  but  her  presence. 
When  she  appeared,  the  prince,  her  father, 
desirous  of  giving  her  a  name,  that  at  once 
would  awaken  the  idea  of  a  cloister,  and 
which  had  been  borne  by  a  saint  of  high  li- 
neage, called  her  Gertrude.  Dolls  dressed  like 
nuns,  were  the  first  playthings  put  into  her 
hands;  then  images  in  nun's  dresses,  accom- 
panying the  gift  with  admonitions  to  take  great 
care  of  them,  as  of  things  very  precious,  with 
the  affirmative  interrogation  of  "Is  it  not 
pretty  ?" 

When  the  prince  or  the  princess,  or  the 
young  prince,  (for  males  alone  were  brought 
up  in  the  house)  wished  to  commend  the  good 
looks  of  the  child,  it  seemed  as  if  they  could 
find  no  other  words  to  express  their  idea,  but 
with  "What  a  fine  mother  abbess  she  will 
make  !"  No  one,  however,  told  her  in  direct 
terms — You  are  to  be  a  nun.  This,  however, 
was  understood,  and  only  touched  upon  inci- 
dentally in  every  conversation  respecting  her 
future  destinies.  If  at  any  time  the  little 
Gertrude  acted  in  a  bold  and  imperious 
manner,  to  which  she  was  rather  prone  from 
her  natural  temper,  she  was  told,  "  You  are  a 
little  girl,  and  must  not  do  so  ;  when  you  shall 
be  a  mother  abbess,  you  shall  command  with 
the  rod,  and  rule  every  body."  Another  time 
the  prince,  reproving  her  for  indulging  in 
manners  rather  too  free  and  familiar,  and 
which  her  natural  disposition  led  her  to,  said, 
"  These  plays  are  not  suitable  to  one  of  your 
rank ;  if  you  wish  people,  to  pay  you  that  re- 
spect which  is  due  to  you,  learn  from  this 
time  to  impose  some  restraint  on  yourself:  re- 
member that  in  every  thing  you  are  to  be  the 
first  in  the  monastery,  for  we  carry  our  blood 
with  us  wherever  we  go." 

All  expressions  of  this  kind,  established  in 
the  mind  of  the  little  girl  the  implicit  idea 
that  she  was  to  be  a  nun,  but  those  which 
came  from  her  father,  produced  a  greater  ef- 
fect than  all  the  rest.  The  manners  of  the 
prince  were  habitually  those  of  an  austere 
master;  but  when  the  subject  of  the  future 
fate  of  his  children  was  under  consideration, 
from  his  countenance  and  from  every  word, 
an  obscure  jealousy  of  command,  an  immo- 
bility of  resolution,  were  apparent,  that  im- 
pressed a  feeling  of  fatal  necessity. 

At  the  age  of  six  years.  Gertrude  was 
placed,  for  her  education,  and  still  more  as  the 
first  step  of  her  settled  vocation,  in  the  mon- 
astery, where  we  have  seen  her.  The  guide 
of  the  two  women  has  said  that  her  father  was 
the  first  person  in  Monza,  and  putting  his  tes- 
timony to  other  facts  picked  up  here  and 
there,  we  have  no  difficulty  in  asserting  that 
he  was  the  feudatory  of  that  country.  How- 
ever that  may  be,  he  possessed  great  authority 
there,  and  he  thought  that  there,  more  than  in 
any  other  place,  his  daughter  would  be  treated 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


69 


those  distinctions  and  attentions  which  might 
tempt  her  to  choose  that  monastery  for  her 
perpetual  residence.  Nor  did  he  deceive 
himself;  the  abbess  of  that  day,  and  a  few 
other  intriguing  nuns,  who  had  got,  as  the 
saying  is,  the  ladle  in  their  own  hands,  find- 
ing themselves  engaged  in  a  quarrel  with 
another  monastery,  and  with  some  families  of 
the  country,  were  glad  to  acquire  such  sup- 
port, and  accepted  with  much  gratitude,  the 
nonor  which  was  conferred  on  them,  corres- 
ponding fully  to-  the  wishes  the  prince  had  ex- 
pressed for  the  permanent  establishment  of  his 
daughter  i  wishes,  by  the  by,  which  accorded 
very  well  with  their  own  interests.  Gertrude, 
scarcely  an  inhabitant  of  the  monastery,  was 
distinguished  by  Antonomasia,  by  the  name  of 
the  Signorina,  or  The  Young  Lady ;  a  distinct 
place  was  assigned  to  her  at  the  table,  and  in 
the  dormitory ;  her  conduct  was  proposed  to  the 
rest  as  an  example :  favors  and  caresses  with- 
out end,  sweetened,  too,  with  a  little  reveren- 
tial familiarity,  which  is  so  alluring  to  chil- 
dren, when  it  proceeds  from  those  who  they 
observe  treat  other  children  with  habitual  de- 
monstrations of  superiority.  Not  that  all  the 
nuns  had  conspired  to  entice  the  poor  child 
into  the  trap;  many  there  were  of  simple 
characters,  and  far  1'rom  practising  intrigues, 
to  whom  the  very  thought  of  sacrificing  a 
daughter  to  interested  views  would  have  in- 
spired disgust ;  but  all  these  attentive  to  their 
particular  occupations,  partly  did  not  see 
through  this  management,  partly  did  not  re- 
flect how  detestable  it  was,  partly  abstained 
from  looking  too  curiously  into  it,  and  partly 
were  silent  to  avoid  creating  useless  scandal. 
Some  of  them,  too,  remembering  well  how 
they  had  been  brought  by  similar  arts  to  do 
what  they  had  subsequently  repented  of,  felt 
compassion  for  the  poor  innocent  little  thing, 
and  thought  to  console  her  by  tender  and 
melancholy  caresses,  beneath  which  she  was 
far  from  suspecting  there  was  any  mystery. 
And  so  things  went  on,  and  perhaps  would 
have  gone  to  the  end,  if  Gertrude  had  been 
the  only  young  girl  in  the  monastery.  But 
amongst  her  young  companions  who  were 
there  for  their  education,  there  were  some 
who  knew  they  were  destined  to  be  married. 
Young  Gertrude,  brought  up  in  ideas  of  her 
own  superiority,  talked  magnificently  of  her 
future  destiny  as  an  Abbess,  as  the  princess  of 
the  monastery,  she  was  determined,  at  any 
rate,  to  be  an  object  of  envy,  and  saw  with  as- 
tonishment and  vexation,  that  some  of  them 
would  not  look  upon  her  in  that  light.  To  the 
majestic,  but  circumscribed  and  cold  attrac- 
tions, which  the  privacy  of  a  nunnery  sug- 
fested  to  them,  they  opposed  the  varied  and 
rilliant  visions,  of  husband,  feasts,  parties, 
villas,  tourneys,  gallantries,  dress,  equipages. 
These  images  produced  in  the  brain  of  young 
Gertrude  a  movement  and  a  buzzing,  such  as 
would  be  collected  before  a  large  bunch  of 
newly  gathered  flowers,  placed  before  a  hive. 
Her  parents  and  instructors  had  nourished  and 


increased  her  natural  vanity,  to  make  the  part 
she  was  destined  for  in  the  cloister  more 
agreeable  to  her,  but  when  this  passion  was 
still  more  excited  by  ideas  she  had  a  greater 
affinity  for,  she  delivered  herself  up  to  them 
with  an  ardor  and  vivacity,  infinitely  more 
spontaneous.  That  she  might  not  seem  to  be 
less  fortunate  than  her  companions,  and  to  act 
in  conformity  to  her  new  inclinations,  she  an- 
swered, that  when  the  time  should  arrive,  no 
one  could  make  her  take  the  veil  without  her 
own  consent,  that  she  too  might  have  a  hus- 
band, inhabit  a  palace,  enjoy  the  world,  and 
more  even  than  any  of  them  :  that  she  could 
always  have  done  it,  if  she  bad  wished  it ;  that 
she  did  wish  it,  and  was  determined  to  do  so—- 
and in  fact  she  spoke  the  truth. 

The  idea  that  her  consent  was  necessary, 
an  idea  that  up  to  that  moment  had  remained 
dormant  in  a  corner  of  her  mind,  now  de- 
veloped itself,  in  all  its  importance.  She  called 
it  up  on  every  occasion  to  aid  her  in  the  more 
tranquil  enjoyment  of  a  grateful  futurity.  Be- 
hind this  idea,  however,  there  invariably  ap- 
peared another,  that  her  consent  would  have 
to  be  refused  to  the  prince  her  father,  who 
had  it  already,  or  who  conducted  himself  as  if 
it  had  been  obtained ;  and  at  this  last  idea,  the 
mind  of  the  daughter  was  far  from  feeling  all 
that  security  which  appeared  in  her  words. 
She  then  compared  herself  with  her  compan- 
ions, who  were  much  more  secure  about  their 
destiny,  and  experienced  painfully  in  relation 
to  them,  the  envy,  which  at  first  she  sought  to 
inspire  them  with.  Envying  them,  she  nated 
them ;  sometimes  her  dislike  manifested  itself 
in  spite — in  ill-behavior — in  offensive  expres- 
sions ;  and  sometimes,  the  conformity  of  their 
inclinations  and  their  hopes  appeased  her,  and 
gave  birth  to  an  apparent  and  transitory  friend- 
ship. Sometimes,  desirous  of  the  present  en- 
joyment of  something  real,  she  seemed  to  be 
pleased  with  the  prefer 


:erence  that  was  given  to 
ner,  and  made  the  others  feel  her  superiority ; 
and  at  times,  not  being  able  to  endure  the  soli- 
tude of  her  fears  and  her  wishes,  she  humbled 
herself  to  them,  almost  to  the  point  of  implor- 
ing their  benevolence,  their  advice  and  sup- 
port. Amidst  these  distressing  contests  with 
herself  and  with  others,  she  had  passed  through 
her  childhood,  and  had  entered  upon  that  criti- 
cal age,  in  which  a  mysterious  sort  of  power 
seems  to  be  awakened  in  the  soul,  which  raises 
up,  adorns,  and  reinvigorates  all  the  inclina- 
tions, all  the  ideas,  and  sometime^transforms 
them,  or  imparts  to  them  an  unforeseen  direc- 
tion. 

That  which  Gertrude  had  up  to  this  time 
most  cherished  in  her  dreams  of  the  future, 
was  external  splendor  and  pomp;  but  now, 
that  sort  of  soft  and  affectionate  sentiment, 
which  at  first  diffused  itself  through  her  like  a 
gentle  mist,  began  to  unfold  itself,  and  to  pre- 
dominate in  her  fancy.  She  had  formed  in 
the  inmost  recesses  of  her  mind  a  sort  of  splen- 
did retreat;  there  she  retired  from  present 
objects ;  there  she  received  certain  personages 


| 

- 


60 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


strangely  formed  out  of  confused  remembran 
ces  of  her  girlish  days ;  of  that  glimpse  whic 
she  had  been  able  to  catch  of  the  externa 
world,  of  what  she  had  learnt  from  the  con 
versations  of  her  companions  ;  she  communi 
cated  with  them,  she  talked  to  them,  and  an 
swered  for  them ;  there  she  gave  her  command 
and  received  homage  of  every  kind.     From 
time  to  time,  thoughts  of  religion  came  to  dis 
turb  those  brilliant  and  fatiguing  visions.    Bu 
religion,  such  as  it  had  been  taught  to  her,  am 
such  as  she  had  received  it,  poor  tMng,  did  no 
proscribe  pride,  but  rather  sanctified  it,  am 
proposed  it  as  a  means  to  obtain  earthly  fe- 
licity.    Despoiled  then  of  its  essence,  it  no 
longer  was  religion,  but  a  phantom  like  her 
other  dreams.    During  the  interval  between 
the  time  when  these  fancies  first  budded,  anc 
that  when  they  took  root  in  the  mind  of  Ger- 
trude, the  unhappy  girl,  overcome  by  confused 
terrors,  and  urged  by  an  ill  defined  idea  of  her 
duties,  imagined  that  this  repugnance  to  the 
cloister,  and  her  resistance  to  the  intimations 
of  her  parents  as  to  the  choice  of  her  state, 
were  sinful ;  and  she  promised  in  her  heart  to 
expiate  her  fault,  by  voluntarily  shutting  her- 
self up  in  the  cloister.    It  was  the  law  that  a 
young  maid  could  not  be  received  as  a  nun, 
without  being  first  examined  by  an  ecclesias- 
tic, called  the  Vicar  of  the  Nuns,  or  by  some 
other  person  deputed  by  him,  so  that  it  might 
appear  she  was  led  to  that  state  by  her  own 
free  election ;  and  this  examination  could  not 
take  place,  but  at  an  interval  of  twelve  months 
after  she  had  explained  her  desire  to  the  vicar 
in  a  written  petition.    Those  nuns  who  had 
taken  upon  themselves  the  wretched  task  to 
persuade  Gertrude  to  come  under  an  obligation 
for  life,  with  the  least  possible  knowledge  of 
what  she  was  doing,  chose  one  of  those  mo- 
ments we  have  alluded  to,  to  get  her  to  sign  a 
petition  of  that  nature.    And  to  induce  her 
more  easily  to  do  it,  they  did  not  fail  to  repeat 
to  her,  what  indeed  was  true,  that  at  best  it 
was  a  mere  formality,  which  could  be  only 
obligatory  and  efficacious,  through  other  acts 
which  would  entirely  depend  upon  her  own 
will.      Nevertheless,  the  petition,  perhaps, 
had  not  reached  its  destination,  when  Ger- 
trude repented  she  had   signed  it.     After- 
wards, she  regretted  she  had  repented  it,  pas- 
sing, in  this  way,  days  and  months  in  an  in- 
cessant transition  of  inclination  on  this  sub- 
ject.  For  a  long  time  she  kept  it  a  secret  from 
ner  companions  that  she  had  sent  this  petition, 
sometimes  from  the  fear  to  expose  a  good  reso- 
lution to  their  disapprobation,  and  at  other 
times  from  shame  at  having  committed  so 
great  a  blunder.    At  length,  she  became  de- 
sirous of  relieving  her  mind,  and  of  acquiring 
advice  and  resolution.    There  was  another 
law,  that  no  maiden  should  come  to  that  ex- 
amination of  her  inclinations,  but  after  a  resi- 
dence at  least  of  a  month,  out  of  the  monastery 
where  she  had  been  educated.  The  year  since 
the  petition  was  sent,  was  now  almost  ex- 
pired, and  Gertrude  had  been  informed  that  in 


a  short  time  she  would  be  removed  to  her  pa- 
ternal home  to  stay  a  month,  and  take  the  ne- 
cessary steps  to  the  fulfilment  of  the  work 
which  she  had  in  fact  begun. 

The  prince,  and  the  rest  of  the  family, 
looked  upon  the  affair  quite  as  certain  as  if  it 
had  already  taken  place,  but  she  did  not  con- 
sider the  matter  to  be  settled  in  that  way.  In- 
stead of  taking  the  steps  which  still  remained, 
she  was  occupied  with  thinking  how  she 
could  retract  the  first.  In  this  strait,  she 
resolved  to  open  her  mind  to  one  of  her  com- 
panions, who  was  always  frank  and  ready  in 
giving  vigorous  counsels.  She  suggested  to 
Gertrude  to  inform  the  vicar,  by  letter,  that 
she  had  changed  her  mind,  for  she  had  not 
the  courage  to  tell  him  at  the  time,  to  his 
face,  I  wifl  not  take  the  veil.  And,  because 
gratuitous  counsel  is  very  rare  in  this  world, 
her  adviser  made  Gertrude  pay  for  her  advice, 
by  laughing  at  her  for  her  extreme  folly.  The 
letter  was  concerted  by  three  or  four  confi- 
dants, was  written  in  secret,  and  conveyed  to 
its  destination  by  a  little  well  contrived  man- 
agement. Gertrude  waited  with  great  anxie- 
ty for  an  answer  that  never  came.  But  a  few 
days  afterwards,  the  abbess,  taking  her  aside, 
with  a  countenance  indicating  concealment, 
disgust,  and  compassion,  let  a  few  obscure 
words  escape  of  a  great  rage  that  the  prince 
was  in,  and  of  some  very  extravagant  things 
she  must  have  done  ;  giving  her,  however,  to 
understand  that  if  she  conducted  herself  pro- 
perly, every  thing  would  be  forgotten.  Ger- 
trude understood  her,  and  made  no  more  ap- 
peals in  that  quarter. 

At  length  the  day  so  much  wished,  so  much 
feared,  arrived.  Although  Gertrude  knew 
:hat  she  was  going  to  a  contest,  still,  the  leav- 
ng  of  the  monastery,  the  very  passing  of  the 
Jireshold  of  the  walls  where  she  had  been  irn- 
nured  eight  years,  the  rolling  over  the  open 
country  in  a  carriage,  the  seeing  of  the  city 
once  more,  and  of  her  home,  produced  in  her 
sensations  of  tumultuous  joy.  As  to  the  con- 
ention,  she,  with  the  advice  of  her  confidants, 
lad  already  taken  her  measures,  and  arranged, 
is  will  be  by  and  by  shown,  her  plan.  Either 
hey  will  use  violence,  thought  she,  when  I 
will  be  firm,  but  humble  and  respectful,  yet 
efusing ;  or  they  will  adopt  gentle  measures, 
and  then  1  will  be  more  gentle  with  them ;  I 
will  weep,  I  will  entreat,  I  will  move  them  to 
Compassion  ;  finally,  I  ask  for  nothing  except 
lot  to  be  sacrificed.  But,  as  it  frequently 
lappens  to  similar  pre-suppositions,  neither 
one  or  the  other  of  them  was  realized.  The 
ays  passed  away,  without  her  father  or  any 
ither  person  speaking  to  her  on  the  subject  of 
ier  petition,  or  of  her  subsequent  communi- 
ation  to  the  vicar,  or  without  any  proposition 
>eing  made  to  her,  either  in  kindness  or  in 
nger.  Her  parents  were  serious,  sad,  sullen, 
o  her,  without  ever  telling  her  why.  She 
nly  comprehended  that  they  looked  upon  her 
s  both  wicked  and  unworthy  ;  a  mysterious 
nathema  appeared  to  hang  over  her,  and  to 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


61 


separate  her  from  her  family,  leaving  her  in 
connexion  with  it  only  just  enough  to  show 
how  completely  they  considered  her  estranged 
from  it.  Seldom,  and  only  at  certain  fixed 
hours,  was  she  admitted  to  the  company  of 
her  parents  and  her  brother.  In  the  conversa- 
tions of  these  three  there  appeared  to  reign 
an  entire  confidence,  that  rendered  the  pro- 
scription of  Gertrude  more  sensible,  and  more 
painful.  No  one  spoke  to  her;  the  words 
which  she  timidly  offered,  when  she  was  not 
compelled  by  necessity  to  speak,  either  fell 
unobserved,  or  they  were  met  by  a  look,  either 
absent,  contemptuous,  or  severe.  And  when 
she,  not  being  able  to  resist  a  distinction  so 
humiliating  and  bitter,  persevered,  and  at- 
tempted to  become  familiar,  and  implored  a 
little  affection  for  herself,  she  was  sure  to 
hear  something,  indirectly,  but  clearly  said, 
about  the  choice  of  her  future  state,  giving 
her  to  understand  that  there  was  a  way  to  re- 
acquire  the  affection  of  her  family.  Then 
she,  who  could  not  resolve  to  accept  it  on 
such  conditions,  was  constrained  to  draw  back, 
to  refuse  almost  the  first  marks  of  kindness 
that  she  was  so  desirous  of  receiving,  and  to 
put  herself  back  to  her  old  position  of  an  ex- 
communicated person,  with  the  additional  dis- 
tress of  having  the  appearance  of  being  in  the 
wrong. 

Such  sensations  springing  from  objects  be- 
fore her,  conflicted  painfully  with  the  gay 
visions  that  had  so  much  occupied,  and  that 
still  occupied  Gertrude  in  that  secret  corner 
of  her  mind.  She  had  hoped  that  in  the 
splendid  and  much  frequented  paternal  house, 
she  would  have  been  able  at  least  to  convert 
into  reality,  a  part  of  what  had  existed  in  her 
imagination ;  but  she  was  entirely  deceived. 
Her  confinement  was  as  complete  and  as  strict 
at  home,  as  it  had  been  in  the  monastery ;  of 
amusement  to  be  sought  out  of  it,  not  a  word 
was  said ;  and  a  gallery  which  led  from  the 
house  to  a  neighboring  church,  took  away  the 
only  pretext  that  could  have  existed  for  even 
going  into  the  street.  Her  company  at  home, 
was  more  melancholy,  less  numerous,  and 
less  varied,  than  in  the  nunnery.  If  any  one 
was  announced,  Gertrude  was  obliged  to  re- 
tire, and  to  shut  herself  up  with  some  old  fe- 
male servants,  with  whom  she  also  dined 
when  her  father  had  any  guests.  The  ser- 
vants, in  their  manner  and  language,  conform- 
ed to  the  example  and  designs  of  their  supe- 
riors, and  Gertrude,  who,  by  inclination, 
would  have  treated  them  with  a  lady-like  and 
reserved  familiarity,  and  who  in  her  unplea- 
sant situation,  would  have  been  grateful  to 
them  for  kindnesses  which  she  even  stooped 
to  ask  for,  was  humbled,  and  made  still  more 
unhappy,  by  witnessing  their  complete  indif- 
ference, although  it  was  accompanied  by  a 
sort  of  formal  respect. 

Nevertheless,  she  could  not  but  observe 
that  a  page,  very  different  from  the  rest,  ob- 
served great  respect  to  her,  and  felt  a  compas- 
sion for  her  of  a  marked  character.  The  de- 


portment of  this  youth  corresponded  more 
than  any  thing  she  had  yet  seen,  with  the  na- 
ture of  those  imaginary  existences  she  had 
cherished,  and  his  countenance  came  nearer 
to  that  of  her  ideal  beings.  By  degrees  a 
change  was  produced  in  the  manners  of  the 
maiden,  a  tranquillity,  and,  at  the  same  time, 
an  uneasiness  at  variance  with  her  usual  ha- 
bits ;  she  acted  as  if  she  had  found  something 
she  set  a  great  value  upon— something  she 
wanted  to  look  at  every  moment,  and  that  she 
wished  no  one  else  to  see.  Being  now  ob- 
served more  vigilantly  than  ever,  a  chamber- 
maid, who  was  watching  her,  surprised  her 
one  morning  secretly  folding  up  a  sheet  of 
paper,  on  which  it  would  have  been  better  if 
she  had  not  written  any  thing.  After  a  short 
struggle,  the  woman  tore  the  letter  from  her, 
and  gave  it  to  the  prince.  The  terror  of  Ger- 
trude at  the  storming  of  his  approach,  is  not 
to  be  described  or  imagined  :  it  was  her  father, 
he  was  violently  irritated,  and  she  was  guilty. 
But  when  she  saw  him,  with  such  a  brow, 
with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  she  would  fain 
have  wished  herself  a  hundred  yards  under 
ground,  to  say  nothing  of  a  cloister.  His 
words  were  few,  but  terrible  ones  :  the  pun- 
ishment intimated  at  the  moment,  was,  mere- 
ly being  locked  up  in  the  room  with  the  same 
woman  who  had  exposed  her ;  but  this  was 
only  an  essay,  an  expedient  for  the  moment, 
she  was  darkly  menaced  with  a  chastisement 
of  a  different  character,  undetermined  in  its 
nature,  and,  for  that  reason,  more  dreadful. 

The  page  was  instantly  driven  out  of  the 
house,  as  a  matter  of  course ;  and  was  also 
threatened  with  something  terrible,  if,  at  any 
time,  he  should  dare  to  breathe  a  word  of 
what  had  happened.  The  prince  accompanied 
this  intimation  with  two  vigorous  boxes  on 
the  ear,  by  way  of  associating  with  the  adven- 
ture a  remembrance,  that  might  take  away 
from  the  youth  every  disposition  to  boast  of 
it.  A  good  pretext  for  the  expulsion  of  the 
page  was  not  wanting,  and  as  to  the  daughter, 
it  was  alleged  she  was  indisposed. 

She  remained,  then,  with  the  discovery,  the 
shame,  the  remorse,  the  terror  of  the  future, 
and  with  no  other  society  but  the  woman 
whom  she  hated,  as  the  witness  of  her  fault, 
and  the  cause  of  her  disgrace.  In  turn,  she 
hated  Gertrude,  on  whose  account  she  found 
herself  reduced,  without  knowing  for  how 
long,  to  the  tedious  occupation  of  a  jailer,  and 
compelled  to  be  for  ever  the  depositary  of  a 
dangerous  secret. 

The  first  confused  tumults  of  1hese  thoughts, 
gradually  subsided,  but  each  of  them  return- 
ing to  her  mind  by  turns,  grew  into  import- 
ance, and  established  itself  there  to  torment 
her  at  leisure.  What  could  that  dark  menace 
mean  ?  Many,  and  various,  and  strange  pun- 
ishments occurred  to  the  ardent  and  inexpe- 
rienced fancy  of  Gertrude.  That  which  ap- 
peared most  probable  to  her,  was  being  re- 
conducted  to  the  monastery  of  Monza.  Not 
as  the  Signorina  but  as  a  guilty  person,  and 


62 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


to  be  shut  up  there,  how  long  she  had  no 
means  of  judging.  And  then  what  treatment 
would  she  experience  !  The  most  distressing 
part  of  such  a  contingency,  so  full  of  pain, 
was,-  perhaps,  the  apprehension  of  shame. 
The  phrases,  the  words,  the  stops,  of  that  un- 
fortunate paper,  passed  and  repassed  in  her 
memory ;  she  imagined  them  examined  and 
weighed,  by  a  reader  so  unexpected,  and  so  dif- 
ferent from  him  to  whom  they  were  addressed 
in  answer;  she  fancied  that  perhaps  they  had 
been  shown  to  her  mother,  to  ner  brother,  even 
to  others,  and  every  fear  was  obscured  by  the 
shame  of  this.  The  image  of  the  youth  who 
was  the  cause  of  all  this  scandal,  often  came, 
too,  to  trouble  the  poor  prisoner,  and  the  con- 
trast is  inexpressible  which  this  phantom  made 
to  those  serious,  cold,  and  threatening  ones 
which  occupied  her  mind :  but  exactly  because 
she  could  not  separate  him  from  them,  nor  re- 
turn for  a  moment  to  those  complacent  feelings 
he  had  inspired  her  with,  without  bringing  up 
at  once  the  present  sorrows  they  had  occasion- 
ed her,  she  began,  by  degrees,  to  indulge  her- 
self less  in  thoughts  about  him,  to  reject  recol- 
lections of  that  nature,  and  to  wean  herself  from 
them.  Nor  did  she  cherish  any  more  those  glad 
and  splendid  visions  she  once  encouraged :  tney 
were  too  much  contrasted  with  her  actual  sit- 
uation, and  were  opposed  to  every  probability 
of  the  future.  The  only  castle  where  Ger- 
trude could  think  of  finding  a  tranquil  and 
honorable  refuge,  and  which  did  not  exist  in 
the  air,  was  the  monastery,  whenever  she 
could  determine  to  enter  it  again,  and  for  ever. 
Such  a  revolution,  she  could  not  doubt,  would 
heal  every  thing,  pay  every  debt,  and  change 
in  an  instaat  her  situation. 

Against  this  proposition,  all  her  past  hopes 
arrayed  themselves  ;  but  times  were  changed, 
and  considering  the  abyss  where  she  had  fallen, 
and  in  comparison  with  what  she  had  to  fear 
at  certain  moments,  the  condition  of  a  nun, 
caressed,  respected,  and  obeyed,  appeared  de- 
lightful to  her.  Two  feelings  also,  of  a  very 
different  kind,  contributed  at  intervals  to  di- 
minish her  old  aversion  to  the  monastery; 
sometimes  a  remorse  for  her  fault,  and  a  sort 
of  feeling  allied  to  devotion ;  sometimes  an 
embittered  pride,  irritated  by  the  ways  of  the 
woman  who  guarded  her,  and  who,  although 
often  provoked  to  it,  revenged  herself  by 
alarming  her  with  the  menaced  punishment, 
and  sometimes  by  reproaching  her  with  her 
conduct.  When  at  other  times  she  wished  to 
appear  more  kind,  she  would  assume  atone  of 
protection  still  more  odious  than  even  her  in- 
sults. In  these  different  trials,  the  desire  that 
Gertrude  experienced  to  get  out  of  her  clutch- 
es, and  to  assume  a  condition  beyond  the  reach 
of  either  her  anger  or  her  compassion,  became 
at  length  so  strong  and  lively,  that  all  the 
means  by  which  she  could  accomplish  this, 
began  to  appear  amiable  to  her. 

At  the  end  of  four  or  five  tedious  days  of 
imprisonment,  one  morning  Gertrude,  enraged 
and  embittered  beyond  measure  by  the  con- 


duct of  her  keeper,  took  refuge  in  the  corner 
of  the  room,  and  there  with  her  face  hid  in  her 
hands,  remained  some  time,  devouring  her 
vexation.  She  felt,  at  that  moment  an  irre- 
sistible desire  to  see  other  faces,  to  hear  other 
voices,  to  be  treated  differently.  She  thought 
of  her  father,  of  her  family ;  the  thought  re- 
coiled upon  her  with  disgust,  but  she  recol- 
lected that  it  depended  upon  her  to  find  friends 
in  them,  and  she  experienced  a  sudden  joy. 
Then  came  a  confusion  and  an  extraordinary 
penitence  for  her  fault,  and  a  strong  desire  to 
expiate  it.  Not  that  her  will  had  been  then 
subdued  to  the  point  of  forming  that  resolution, 
but  it  had  never  been  bent  down  so  near  to  it. 
She  arose,  went  to  a  table,  took  up  the  fatal 
pen,  and  wrote  her  father  a  subdued  letter,  full 
of  enthusiasm,  expressive  of  much  sorrow  and 
hope,  and  finishing  by  imploring  his  pardon, 
and  declaring  herself  indefinitely  ready  to  do 
every  thing  that  could  please  him  from  whom 
she  expected  forgiveness. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THERE  are  moments  in  which  the  human 
mind,  particularly  with  young  people,  is  so 
disposed,  that  the  least  instance  suffices  to 
obtain  from  them  whatever  has  the  appear- 
ance of  a  sacrifice,  or  of  being  honorable  to 
them,  like  a  flower  scarce  yet  unfolded,  which 
gently  abandons  itself  upon  the  fragile  stem, 
ready  to  give  its  fragrance  to  the  first  slight 
zephyrs  that  breathe  from  around.  These 
moments,  which  by  others  should  be  held  in 
inviolable  respect,  are  just  those  which  inter- 
ested cunning  espies,  and  seizes  at  once,  to 
subdue  the  unsuspecting  will. 

On  reading  the  letter,  the  prince im- 
mediately saw  the  road  open -to  his  former 
steady  wishes.  He  sent  to  Gertrude  to  come 
to  him,  and  whilst  waiting  for  her,  concerted 
how  he  should  strike  the  iron  whilst  it  was 
hot.  Gertrude  appeared,  and  without  raising 
her  eyes  to  the  countenance  of  her  father, 
threw  herself  at  his  feet,  and  had  scarce  voice 
to  say,  "  pardon  ! "  He  made  signs  to  her  to 
rise ;  but  with  a  voice  little  calculated  to  en- 
courage her,  he  told  her  that  to  ask  and  to 
wish  tor  pardon  was  not  enough ;  that  it  was 
very  natural  and  easy  for  those  to  do  so,  who 
had  committed  a  fault,  that  it  was  necessary  to 
deserve  it.  Gertrude  asked,  submissively, 
and  with  trembling,  what  she  must  do  to 
deserve  it  ?  To  this,  the  prince — we  have  not 
the  heart  at  this  moment  to  call  him  by  the 
name  of  father — did  not  give  a  direct  answer, 
but  began  to  talk  at  length  of  Gertrude's  fault, 
and  his  words  produced  the  same  effect  on  the 
mind  of  the  poor  girl,  that  a  rude  hand  does 
when  passed  over  a  recent  wound.  He  con- 
tinued, saying,  "  that  if  even,"  (an  impossible 
tiling,)  "he  should  have  entertained  from  the 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


63 


first  an  intention  of  establishing  her  in  the 
world,  she  herself  had  now  interposed  an  in- 
superable obstacle  ;  since  a  man  of  honor  like 
himself,  could  never  possibly  give  in  marriage 
to  a  gentleman,  a  young  person  who  had  so  far 
committed  herself."  The  wretched  listener 
was  annihilated :  then  the  prince,  softening 
gradually  his  voice  and  tone,  went  on  to  say, 
"  that  nevertheless  for  every  fault  there  was 
both  a  remedy  and  mercy ;  that  hers  was  of  that 
class  for  which  the  remedy  was  most  clearly 
indicated ;  that  she  must  consider  this  dreadful 
accident  as  a  warning  that  a  secular  life  was 
too  full  of  dangers  for  her " 

"  Oh,  yes !"  exclaimed  Gertrude,  shook  by 
fear,  prepared  by  shame,  and  moved  at  that 
moment  by  an  instantaneous  tenderness. 

"Ah  !  you  think  so  too  '"he  immediately 
replied.  "  Well,  let  the  past  be  no  more  spo- 
ken of ;  everything  is  cancelled.  You  have 
embraced  the  only  honorable  method,  the  only 
convenient  one  which  remained:  but  since 
you  have  done  it  of  your  own  will,  and  in  a 
becoming  way,  it  is  my  business  now  to  see 
that  every  thing  is  accomplished  in  the  most 
agreeable  manner ;  it  is  for  me  now  to  give  all 
the  advantage  and  all  the  merit  of  the  affair  to 
yourself.  1  shall  charge  myself  with  that." 
Saying  this,  he  rung  a  bell  which  was  on  the 
table,  and  said  to  the  servaut  who  entered, 
"  The  princess  and  the  young  prince  immedi- 
ately," and  added  to  Gertrude,  "they  shall 
both  of  them  immediately  partake  of  my  con- 
solation, all  shall  treat  you  now  as  you  deserve 
to  be  treated.  You  have  experienced  some- 
thing of  the  severity  of  a  father,  but  hence- 
forwards  you  shall  find  in  him  every  thing  that 
is  affectionate." 

At  these  words  Gertrude  remained  like  one 
stupified,  she  began  to  think  with  herself,  how 
that  simple  "  Yes"  could  possibly  signify  so 
much  :  then  she  began  to  consider  if  there  was 
no  mode  of  retracting  it,  of  circumscribing 
the  meaning  of  it ;  but  the  persuasion  of  the 
prince  appeared  so  complete,  his  satisfaction 
was  of  so  jealous  a  character,  his  kindness 
was  so  conditional,  that  Gertrude  did  not  dare 
to  utter  a  word  which  might  disturb  him  in 
the  least  degree. 

The  mother  and  brother  now  arrived,  and 
seeing  Gertrude  there,  looked  at  her  with  doubt 
and  surprise.  But  the  prince,  with  a  cheerful 
and  affectionate  countenance  which  they  soon 
put  on  likewise,  said  "  here  is  the  lost  sheep, 
and  I  mean  that  this  shall  be  the  last  word 
which  shall  recall  painful  recollections.  This  is 
the  consolation  of  the  family.  Gertrude  stands 
in  no  need  of  further  counsel,  what  we  desired 
on  account  of  her  welfare,  she  has  spontane- 
ously preferred.  She  is  resolved,  she  has  given 

me  to  understand  she  is  resolved "  here 

she  cast  an  affrighted  and  supplicating  look  at 
her  father,  as  if  to  ask  him  to  suspend  his 
words,  but  he  went  boldly  on  "  She  is  resolved 
to  take  theyieil."  "Brava,  excellent!"  ex- 
claimed at  once  both  mother  and  son,  and  each 
of  them  embraced  Gertrude,  who  received 


their  caresses  with  tears,  that  were  interpre- 
ted to  be  tears  of  consolation.  Then  the  prince 
went  at  large  into  explanations  of  what  he 
would  do  to  render  the  condition  of  his  daugh- 
ter a  glad  and  splendid  one.  He  spoke  of  the 
distinctions  she  would  enioy  in  the  monastery 
and  in  the  country,  that  she  would  be  there  as 
a  princess,  the  representative  of  the  family, 
that  as  soon  as  ever  she  reached  the  proper 
age  she  should  be  raised  to  the  greatest  digni- 
ty, and  until  then  should  only  DC  nominally 
subject  to  others.  The  princess  and  the  prince 
renewed  at  every  instant  their  congratulations 
and  applauses.  Gertrude  seemed  like  a  per- 
son under  the  influence  of  a  dream. 

"  We  must  now  fix  the  day  to  go  to  Monza 
to  ask  the  consent  of  the  Abbess,"  said  the 
prince.  "  How  delighted  she  will  be  !  I  can 
tell  you  that  the  whole  monastery  will  know 
how  to  place  a  proper  value  on  the  honor  Ger- 
trude does  them.  Indeed — why  cannot  we  go 
this  very  day  ?  Gertrude  will  be  glad  to  take 
the  air."  "Let  us  go"  said  the  princess.  " I 
will  give  orders"  said  the  young  prince. 
"  But,"  uttered  submissively  Gertrude.  "  Soft- 
ly, softly,"  answered  the  prince,  "  let  her  de- 
cide, perhaps  to  day  she  may  not  feel  so  well 
disposed,  and  would  prefer  waiting  until  to- 
morrow. Say,  shall  we  go  to  day  or  tomor- 
row?" 

"  Tomorrow,"  answered  Gertrude,  with  a 
faint  voice,  who  seemed  as  if  she  thought  it 
was  something  to  gain  a  little  time. 

"Tomorrow,"  said  the  prince  solemnly, 
"  she  has  decided  that  we  go  tomorrow.  In 
the  meantime  I  will  go  and  ask  the  Vicar  of 
the  Nuns  to  give  me  a  day  for  the  examina- 
tion." As  soon  said  as  done.  The  prince  left 
the  house,  and  went  indeed  (no  small  conde- 
scension) to  the  Vicar,  and  got  his  promise  for 
the  day  after  the  next.  During  the  remainder 
of  that  day  Gertrude  had  not  two  minutes  of 
tranquillity ;  she  would  have  wished  to  com- 
pose her  mind  after  so  many  commotions,  to 
clear  up  her  thoughts,  to  give  some  account  to 
herself  of  what  she  had  done,  of  what  remain- 
ed to  be  done,  to  find  out  what  she  herself 
wished,  and  to  stay  for  a  moment  the  impulse 
of  a  machine  which  though  scarcely  moved, 
had  begun  to  advance  so  precipitously,  but  it 
was  not  possible.  Occupations  succeeded  each 
other  without  interruption,  and  became  en- 
chased, as  it  were,  within  each  other.  After 
that  solemn  conversation,  she  was  conducted 
to  the  cabinet  of  the  princess,  to  be  there,  un- 
der her  direction,  dressed  and  arranged  by  the 
hands  of  her  own  maid.  Even  this  ceremony 
was  not  terminated  when  dinner  was  an- 
nounced. Gertrude  passed  between  the  bows 
of  the  servants,  who  seemed  to  congratulate 
themselves  on  her  recovery,  and  found  in  the 
hall  some  of  her  nearest  relations,  who  had 
been  hastily  invited  to  do  her  honor,  and  to 
compliment  her  on  the  two  pieces  of  good 
news  ;  her  recovery,  and  the  declaration  of  her 
intentions. 

The  young  spouse, — thus  young  novices 


64 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


were  called,  and  Gertrude  on  her  appearance 
was  by  all  of  them  saluted  with  that  name — 
had  enough  to  do  to  answer  to  the  compli- 
ments she  received.  She  felt  that  every  an- 
swer she  gave  was  an  acknowledgment  and  a 
confirmation,  but  how  could  she  answer  differ- 
ently ?  Scarcely  was  the  repast  over,  when 
the  hour  for  taking  a  drive  arrived.  Gertrude 
entered  a  carriage  with  her  mother,  and  two 
of  her  uncles  who  had  been  invited.  After 
the  accustomed  turn,  they  arrived  in  the  street 
called  Marina,  which  then  passed  through  the 
space  now  occupied  by  the  public  gardens, 
and  where  people  of  distinction  assembled  with 
their  equipages,  to  recreate  themselves  after 
the  fatigues  of  the  day.  Her  uncles  talked  a 
great  deal  to  her,  as  an  attention  due  her  on 
the  occasion,  and  one  of  them  who  appeared 
to  be  better  acquainted  than  the  other  with 
every  individual,  every  carriage,  every  livery, 
and  had  something  to  say  to  her  eveiy  instant 
about  this  one  and  that  one,  interrupted  his  re- 
lation all  at  once,  and  turning  to  her,  said  "  Ah 
you  young  rogue !  you  turn  your  back  upon 
all  these  follies,  you  are  for  going  straight  for- 
ward, you  are  for  a  life  of  blessedness,  you  are 
for  going  to  Paradise  in  a  coach  and  six,  and 
want  toleave  us  worldly  people  stuck  fast  in 
our  perplexities." 

Towards  evening  they  returned  home,  and 
the  servants  descending  in  haste  with  lights, 
announced  that  many  visitors  were  waiting. 
The  news  were  abroad,  and  relations  and 
friends  had  called  to  pay  their  respects.  They 
entered  the  saloon,  and  there  the  young  spouse 
was  the  idol,  the  delight  of  all,  and  the  victim. 
Every  one  wanted  to  engross  her  society,  this 
one  exacted  of  her  promises  of  confectionary, 
the  other  engaged  to  visit  her :  one  spoke  to 
her  of  mother  such  a  one  her  relation,  and 
another  of  mother  such  a  one  her  acquaint- 
ance :  this  one  praised  the  climate  of  Monza, 
and  that  talked  to  her  with  great  earnestness 
of  the  primacy  she  would  be  raised  to.  Others 
who  had  not  been  able  to  get  nigh  to  Gertrude, 
besieged  as  she  was,  were  waiting  an  oppor- 
tunity to  speak  to  her,  and  somewhat  vexed 
they  had  not  been  able  to  do  it.  By  degrees 
the  company  went  away,  all  of  them  without 
regret,  and  Gertrude  remained  alone  with  the 
family. 

"  At  length,"  said  the  prince,  "  I  have  had 
the  consolation  to  see  my  daughter  treated 
with  the  distinction  due  to  her.  I  must  confess, 
however,  that  she  also  has  conducted  herself 
extremely  well,  and  has  shown  that  she  will 
have  no  difficulty  in  filling  the  highest  station, 
and  in  sustaining  the  consequence  of  the  fami- 
ly." 

Supper  was  hastily  despatched  that  they 
might  retire  at  an  early  hour,  in  order  to  be 
ready  to  start  in  the  morning. 

Gertrude,  afflicted,  piqued,  and  a  little  in- 
flated at  the  same  time  with  the  court  that  had 
been  paid  to  her  during  the  day,  now  thought 
of  what  she  had  endnred  from  {he  woman  who 
had  been  her  jailer,  and  seeing  her  father  dis- 


posed to  oblige  her  in  ah1  things  but  one, 
thought  she  would  derive  some  advantage  from 
her  position,  and  gratify  at  least  one  of  the  pas- 
sions which  tormented  her.  She  evinced  there- 
fore a  very  powerful  repugnance  to  have  that 
woman  about  her,  and  complained  bitterly  of 
her  disrespect. 

"How!"  said  the  prince,  "Has  she  been 
wanting  in  respect  to  you  ?  Tomorrow,  to- 
morrow, I  will  teach  her  her  duty,  in  a  man- 
ner she  will  not  forget.  Leave  it  to  me,  you 
shall  have  most  complete  satisfaction.  Cer- 
tainly a  daughter  with  whom  I  am  well  satis- 
fied ought  not  to  have  about  her  a  person  whom 
she  dislikes."  Having  said  this,  he  ordered 
another  woman  to  be  called,  whom  he  direct- 
ed to  wait  upon  Gertrude,  who,  in  the  mean- 
time, in  the  midst  of  the  satisfaction  which 
had  been  accorded  to  her,  was  astonished  to 
find  how  little  gratification  she  had  received 
in  proportion  to  the  desire  she  had  felt  of 
revenging  herself.  What,  however,  in  des- 

Site  of  her,  engrossed  all  her  thoughts,  was  a 
:eling  of  the  prodigious  progress  she  had 
made  in  that  day  on  her  way  to  the  cloistei ; 
the  thought  that  to  retract  now  would  require 
infinitely  more  strength  and  resolution  than 
would  have  sufficed  a  few  days  before,  and 
which  she  did  not  feel  she  possessed. 

The  woman  who  came  to  accompany  her  to 
her  room,  was  an  old  family  servant  that  had 
been  governante  of  the  young  prince,  whom 
she  had  received  from  the  arms  of  his  nurse, 
and  had  had  the  care  of  until  his  adolescence, 
on  whom  she  had  lavished  all  her  kindness, 
and  who  was  her  hope  and  her  glory.  She 
was  as  happy  at  the  decision  made  on  that  day, 
as  if  it  had  established  her  own  fortune,  and 
Gertrude,  at  the  end  of  the  day,  had  to  listen 
to  all  the  congratulations,  the  praises,  and  the 
counsels  of  the  old  woman.  She  talked  to  her 
of  certain  of  her  aunts  and  great  aunts,  who 
had  been  very  happy  when  they  became  nuns, 
because,  belonging  to  that  house,  they  had  al- 
ways enjoyed  the  first  honors,  had  always  been 
able  to  keep  one  of  their  hands  out  of  doors, 
and  from  their  parlor  had  come  out  victorious 
from  undertakings  where  ladies  of  the  first 
distinction  had  failed.  She  talked  to  her  of 
the  visits  she  would  receive ;  that  some  day  or 
other,  the  young  prince  with  his  spouse,  who 
would  certainly  be  a  personage  ot  great  dis- 
tinction, would  pay  her  a  visit,  and  that  not 
only  the  monastery,  but  the  whole  country 
would  then  be  in  motion.  The  old  woman 
went  on  talking  whilst  Gertrude  was  undress- 
ing, whilst  she  laid  down,  and  was  still  talking 
when  Gertrude  was  asleep.  Youth  and  fa- 
tigue had  proved  stronger  than  her  cares.  Her 
sleep  was  distressing,  troubled,  full  of  painful 
dreams,  but  was  broken  only  by  the  sharp 
voice  of  the  old  woman,  who  came  at  an  early 
hour  to  rouse  her,  in  order  to  prepare  for  the 
journey  to  Monza. 

[  To  be  continued  in  No.  2.  ] 


THE    METROPOLITAN; 

A   MISCELLANY   OF    LITERATURE    AND   SCIENCE. 


Vol.  II. 


Washington,  June  28,  1834. 


No.  2. 


"  Up,  up,  my  young  spouse  ;  the  day  has 
broke,  and  before  you  are  dressed  and  ready, 
another  hour  must  pass.  The  princess  is  get- 
ting up  ;  she  has  been  aweke  four  hours  before 
her  usual  time.  The  youRg  prince  has  already 
been  to  the  stables,  is  returned,  and  is  ready 
to  go  wheoever  the  rest  are.  He  is  as  lively 
as  a  hare — that  young  fellow — but  he  was  al- 
ways so  from  a  child,  and  I  may  well  say  it, 
who  have  brought  him  up  in  my  arms.  But 
when  he  is  on  the  move  he  can't  bear  to  wait, 
for,  notwithstanding  his  good  nature,  he  gets 
impatient  and  noisy.  Poor  young  fellow,  he 
is  to  be  pitied ;  it's  nothing  but  temper ;  and 
then  he  has  some  some  right  to  be  so  just  now, 
for  he  really  is  incommoding  himself  on  your 
account  When  he  is  in  these  humors,  it  is 
best  to  have  but  little  to  do  with  him,  for  he 
minds  nobody  except  it  is  the  prince.  But 
one  of  these  days  he  will  be  the  prince — at  as 
distant  a  day  as  possible,  however.  Come, 
young  lady,  be  quick,  be  quick.  What  are 
you  staring  at  me  so  for,  like  an  enchanted 
person  ?  You  ought  to  be  out  of  your  nest  at 
this  hour." 

At  the  very  image  of  the  young  prince  in  one 
of  those  humors,  the  other  thoughts  that  had 
crowded  together  into  the  aroused  mind  of  Ger- 
trude, all  took  flight  like  a  flock  of  birds  at  the 
appearance  of  a  scarecrow.  She  obeyed,  dres- 
sed in  haste,  permitted  herself  to  be  adjusted, 
and  appeared  in  the  hall,  where  her  parents 
•and  her  brother  were  assembled.  She  was 
placed  in  an  arm  chair,  and  a  cup  of  chocolate 
was  taken  to  her,  a  ceremony  whkh  in  those 
days  was  equivalent  to  that  amongst  the  Ro- 
mans of  conferring  the  virile  garment. 

When  the  carriage  was  announced,  the 
prince  drew  his  daughter  aside,  and  said  to 
her,  "  Come,  Gertrude,  yesterday  you  did 
yourself  great  honor — today  you  must  surpass 
yourself.  This  is  the  day  of  your  appearance 
at  the  monastery,  and  in  the  country  where 
you  are  destined  to  play  the  first  part.  They 
are  expecting  you.  (It  would  be  superfluous 
to  state  that  the  prince  had  apprized  the  abbess 
the  preceding  day.)  They  are  expecting  you,  I 
and  all  eyes  will  be  upon  you.  Dignity-  and 
ease.  The  abbess  will  ask  you  what  you  de- 
sire ;  it  is  an  affair  of  formality.  You  can 
answer  that  you  demand  to  be  admitted  to  as- 
sume the  habit  in  that  monastery  where  you 
have  been  so  affectionately  brought  up,  where 
you  have  received  so  many  kindnesses,  that  it 
is  the  pure  truth.  Deliver  these  few  words 
with  an  wKnbarrassed  air,  so  that  it  may  not 
9 


be  said,  they  were  put  into  your  mouth,  and 
that  you  can't  speak  of  your  own  accord. 
Those  good  mothers  know  nothing  of  what  has 
passed ;  that  is  a  secret  which  must  remain 
buried  with  the  family.  But  do  not  wear  a 
dubious  and  sorrowful  face,  that  might  occa- 
sion suspicions.  Show  from  what  blood  you 
spring,  be  graceful,  modest;  but  remember 
that  in  that  place,  except  the  family,  there  is 
no  one  superior  to  yourself." 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  the  prince 
moved,  and  Gertrude,  the  princess,  and  the 
young  prince  followed  him,  descended  the 
stairs,  and  got  into  the  carriage.  The  anxieties 
and  troubles  of  the  world,  and  the  blessed  life 
of  the  cloister,  chiefly  for  young  people  of  no- 
ble blood,  formed  the  theme  of  conversation 
during  the  ride.  Towards  the  end,  the  prince 
renewed  his  instructions  to  his  daughter,  and 
repeated  to  her  more  than  once  the  form  of 
her  answer.  On  approaching  the  place,  Ger- 
trude felt  her  heart  contract,  but  her  attention 
was  immediately  turned  to  some  gentlemen, 
who,  having  stopped  the  carriage,  addressed 
some  compliments  to  her.  They  now  pro- 
ceeded slowly  to  the  monastery,  amidst  the 
gaze  of  the  curious,  who  had  assembled  from 
all  quarters.  When  the  carriage  at  length 
drew  near  to  the  walls,  and  stopped  before  the 
gate,  her  heart  shrunk  still  more  within  her. 
They  got  out  between  two  lines  of  the  people, 
whom  the  servants  caused  to  recede.  All  these 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  poor  girl,  compelled  her  a 
at  every  moment  to  study  her  deportment : 
but  more  than  all  these,  the  eyes  of  her  father 
kept  her  under  restraint :  to  them,  great  as 
was  the  fear  that  governed  her,  she  turned  her 
own  at  every  instant.  His  eyes  governed  the 
movements  and  the  aspect  of  her  own  as  if 
by  invisible  threads. 

Having  crossed  the  first  court-yard,  they 
entered  the  second,  where  they  saw  the  door 
of  the  inner  cloister  wide  open  and  filled  with 
nuns.  In  front  was  the  abbess,  surrounded  by 
the  oldest ;  behind  her,  other  sisters,  mixed, 
up  togethsr,  some  raising  themselves  up  on 
tiptoe ;  and  further  behind,  the  lay  sisters 
standing  upon  benches.  Here  and  there, 
might  be  observed  eyes  timidly  sparkling,  and 
little  faces  peeping  out  of  their  cowls.  The 
most  courageous  and  lively  of  the  young 
boarders  were  pushing  themselves  in  between 
the  nuns,  and  getting  a  good  situation,  that 
they  might  see  something  likewise.  Accla- 
mations came  from  the  crowd,  and  arms  were 
in  motion,  waving  signs  of  exultation  and  of 
65 


66 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


welcome.  Having  reached  the  door,  Gertmde 
found  herself  face  to  face  with  the  abbess. 
After  the  first  compliments,  the  abbess  inter- 
rogated her  in  a  solemn  yet  cheerful  manner, 
and  demanded — what  she  desired  in  that  place 
where  none  could  deny  her  any  thing. 

"  I  am  here,"  Gertrude  began,  but  at  the 
instant  she  began  to  utter  the  words  which 
were  almost  irrevocably  to  decide  her  destiny, 
she  hesitated  a  moment,  and  remained  with 
her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  crowd  that  was  before 
her.  She  perceived  at  that  instant  one  of  her 
old  companions,  who  looked  at  her  with  an 
air  of  mixed  compassion  and  mischief,  as  if 
she  was  saying, — Ah,  my  resolute  miss,  you 
have  let  them  catch  you,  then  !  That  sight 
awoke  once  more  in  her  mind  her  old  feelings, 
and  restored  to  her  a  little  of  her  ancient  cour- 
age ;  she  was  even  beginning  to  conceive  an 
answer  very  different  from  the  one  which  had 
been  dictated  to  her,  when  raising  her  eyes  to 
those  of  her  father,  as  if  to  try  her  strength, 
she  discerned  there  such  a  deep  inquietude, 
and  threatening  impatience,  that,  urged  by 
fear,  she,  as  instantaneously  as  she  would 
have  fled  from  some  terrible  object,  went  on — 
"  I  am  here  to  ask  to  be  admitted  to  assume 
the  habit,  in  the  monastery  where  I  have  been 
so  affectionately  brought  up."  The  abbess 
immediately  answered,  "that  she  regretted  ex- 
ceedingly in  this  case  that  the  regulations  of 
the  monastery  prevented  her  giving  an  imme- 
diate answer,  which  alone  could  be  had  from 
the  common  suffrages  of  the  sisters,  and  which 
must  be  preceded  by  the  permission  of  the 
superiors.  That  Gertrude  was  sufficiently 
acquainted  with  the  sentiments  that  were  en- 
tertained towards  her  in  that  place,  to  antici- 
pate what  the  answer  would  oe ;  and  that  in 
the  mean  time  no  regulation  prevented  the 
abbess  and  the  sisters  expressing  the  satisfac- 
tion they  experienced  at  the  request." 

A  confused  noise  of  congratulations  and 
^welcomes  was  now  heard.  Large  salvers  full 
of  confectionary  were  brought,  were  present- 
ed first  to  the  young  spouse,  and  afterwards 
to  her  parents.  Whilst  some  of  the  nuns 
were  snatching  them  away,  others  were  pay- 
ing their  compliments  to  the  princess  and  to 
the  young  prince,  whilst  the  abbess  requested 
the  prince  to  come  to  the  grate  of  the  parlor, 
where  she  wished  to  see  Him.  She  was  ac- 
companied by  two  elderly  nuns,  and  as  soon 
as  he  appeared,  she  said, "  Prince,  it  is  in  con- 
formity with  the  rule — it  is  in  the  observance 
of  an  indispensable  formality — although  to  be 
sure  iu  this  case — still  I  must  say — that  every 
time  a  daughter  asks  to  be  admitted  to  take 
the  habit,  the  superior,  whom  unworthily  I 
am, — is  under  an  obligation  to  apprize  the 
parents — that  if— by— chance — they  were  do- 
ing violence  to  the  inclination  of  their  child, 
they  would  incur  the  penalty  of  excommuni- 
cation. You  will  excupc  me,  if " 

"Very  right,  vrry  right,  reverend  mother, 
I  applaud  your  exactitude,  it  is  just,  certainly, 
but  you — cannot — doubt  thht — " 


"  Oh !  certainly,  Prince,  you  cannot  sup 
pose — I   have  said  so  much  on   account  of 
being  precisely  obliged  to — as  for  the  rest  you 
know — " 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  mother  abbess." 

Having  exchanged  these  few  words,  the- 
parties  mutually  bowed  and  separated,  as  if 
the  conversation  was  not  becoming  more 
agreeable,  as  it  proceeded,  and  each  rejoined 
their  friends,  one  without,  the  other  within 
the  cloistered  threshold.  "  Let  us  be  gone," 
said  the  prince,  "  Gertrude  will  soon  have 
every  convenient  opportunity  to  enjoy  the 
society  of  the  mothers.  For  the  present 
we  have  incommoded  them  enough.  And 
having  bowed  as  if  about  to  depart,  the  family 
moved ;  compliments  were  interchanged  again, 
and  they  left  the  nunnery. 

Gertrude  on  her  return,  had  no  great  incli- 
nation to  talk.  Frightened  at  the  step  she 
had  taken,  ashamed  of  her  want  of  resolution, 
angry  against  others,  and  against  herself,  she 
sorrowfully  calculated  the  opportunities  which 
still  remained  for  her  to  say — no  :  and  faintly 
and  obscurely  she  promised  herself  that  she 
would  avail  herself  of  one  of  them  with  dex- 
terity and  courage.  Amidst  these  thoughts, 
she  did  not  forget  the  dread  which  the  irowr* 
of  her  father  had  inspired  her  with  ;  so  much 
sor  that  when  she,  by  stealth,  caught  a  view 
of  his  face,  and  saw  that,  instead  of  anger,  it 
carried  plain  demonstrations  of  satisfaction  to- 
wards her,  she  felt  it  as  a  piece  of  good  for- 
tune, and  was  for  the  moment  perfectly  con- 
tent. 

When  they  reached  home,  a  tedious  dres- 
sing, then  dinner,  then  some  visits,  then  the 
afternoon's  ride,  then  conversazione,  then  sup- 
per, succeeded  to  each  other.  When  this  last 
was  over,  the  prince  introduced  another  sub- 
ject, the  choice  of  the  god-mother.  This 
was  the  term  given  to  a  lady,  who,  at  the  re- 
quest of  the  parents,  became  the  guardian 
and  escort  of  the  young  novice  during  the 
period  betwixt  the  request  to  be  admitted,  and 
the  assuming  the  habit,  a  period  usually  passed 
in  visiting  churches,  public  palaces,  conversazi 
ones,  villas,  sanctuaries,  every  thing,  in  short, 
that  was  celebrated  in  the  city  and  in  the  vici- 
nage, so  that  the  young  novices,  ere  the  irrev- 
ocable vow  was  pronounced,  might  see  what 
sort  of  things  they  were  renouncing.  "  We  * 
must  think  upon  a  god-mother,"  said  the 
prince,  "  because  the  Vicar  of  the  Nuns 
will  come  tomorrow  for  the  formality  of 
examination,  and,  immediately  afterwards, 
Gertrude  will  be  proposed  for  reception  to  the 
mothers  in  full  chapter."  Saying  these  words 
he  turned  to  the  princess,  and  she  supposing 
this  was  an  invitation  to  name  some  one,  be- 
gan— « there  is — "  but  the  prince  interrupted 
her,  "  No,  princess,  the  god-mother  ought  first 
of  all  to  be  agreeable  to  the  young  spouse, 
and  although  custom  gives  the^U|ce  to  the 
parents,  yet  Gertrude  has  so  ra^^Bldgiiient. 
so  much  propriety,  that  she  vv«Pllerves  to 
be  excepted  from  the  custom.  "^Mw  tumius; 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


67 


to  her,  as  if  he  would  announce  a  very  espe- 
cial favor,  he  continued  "  each  of  the  ladies 
who  were  here  at  the  conversazione  this  even- 
ing, possesses  the  qualifications  requisite  for 
a  god-mother,  to  a  daughter  of  our  house ; 
each  of  them,  I  must  believe,  would  esteem 
it  an  honor  to  be  preferred.  Choosefor  your 
self." 

Gertrude  felt  that  the  act  would  be  giving  a 
new  consent,  but  the  proposition  was  made  in 
so  marked  a  manner,  that  a  refusal  might  have 
had  the  appearance  of  want  of  respect,  and 
the  attempt  to  excuse  herself,  of  ingratitude 
and  fastidiousness.  She  took,  therefore,  this 
step  as  well  as  the  others,  and  named  the  lady 
who  that  evening  had  been  most  agreeable  to 
her,  who  had  caressed  her  most,  who  had 
praised  her  most,  who  had  treated  her  with 
those  familiar  and  affectionate  manners,  which 
in  the  first  moments  of  an  acquaintance  look 
so  much  like  ancient  friendship. 

"An  excellent  choice"  exclaimed  the  prince, 
who  desired  and  expected  she  would  name 
her.  Whether  it  was  art  or  chance,  it  had 
happened  exactly  as  when  a  conjurer  rapidly 
shuffles  a  pack  of  cards  before  your  face,  bids 
you  think  of  one,  and  he  will  divine  it :  but 
he  takes  care  so  to  shuffle  them  that  you  only 
see  one.  That  lady  had  been  so  much  about 
Gertrude  the  whole  evening,  had  occupied 
her  attention  so  much,  that  a  very  great  effort 
of  fancy  would  have  been  necessary  to  make 
it  possible  for  her  to  think  of  any  other.  These 
attentions  had  not  been  paid  without  a  mo- 
tive :  the  lady  for  a  long  time  past  had  cast 
her  eyes  upon  the  young  prince  as  a  future 
son-in-law:  the  temporalities,  therefore,  of 
that  house,  she  looked  upon  with  very  great 
affection,  and  so  it  came  very  natural  to  her,  to 
interest  herself  for  her  dear  Gertrude,  quite  as 
much  as  for  her  nearest  relatives. 

In  the  morning  Gertrude  awoke  with  the 
image  of  the  examiner  who  was  to  come, 
present  to  her  mind ;  and  as  she  was  reflecting 
how  she  could  use  that  opportunity  so  deci- 
sive to  draw  back,  the  prince  directed  her  to 
be  called.  "  Well,  my  daughter,"  said  he, 
"  up  to  this  moment  you  have  conducted  your- 
self extremely  well,  today  you  must  crown 
the  work.  Every  thing  that  has  been  hither- 
to done,  has  been  done  with  your  consent.  If 
any  kind  of  doubt,  any  lingering  regret,  any 
girl's  ideas,  had  occurred  to  you,  it  was  your 
Business  to  have  explained  yourself;  but  at 
the  point  where  matters  are  now  carried,  there 
is  no  longer  room  for  any  foolish  notions.  The 
good  man  who  has  to.  come  this  morning, 
will  interrogate  you  a  hundred  times  upon 
your  calling,  and  if  you  are  doing  it  of  your 
own  accord,  and  wherefore,  and  how  it  has 
happened,  and  so  on.  If  you  are  irresolute  in 

Jour  answers,  he'll  keep  you  at  work  Heaven 
nows  how  long.  It  would  wear  you  out  with 
vexation,  andjmight  be  productive  of  still 
•worse  conseflKces.  Afler  all  the  public  de- 
monstrations which  have  been  made,  the  least 
hesitation  observed  in  you,  would  bring  my 


honor  in  question ;  it  might  induce  some  to 
suppose  I  had  mistaken  some  slight  fancy  on 
your  part  for  a  firm  resolution ;  that  I  had 
gone  hastily  to  work,  that  I  had — I  know  not 
what  they  might  suppose.  In  such  a  case  I 
should  be  obliged  to  choose  between  two  pain- 
ful alternatives — either  to  let  the  world  con- 
ceive a  poor  opinion  of  my  conduct,  a  conclu- 
sion altogether  inconsistent  with  what  I  owe 
to  myself,  or  reveal  the  true  motive  of  your 
resolution,  and — "  hut  here  perceiving  that 
Gertrude's  face  was  suffused,  that  her  eyes 
were  swelled,  and^that  her  countenance  con- 
tracted like  the  leaves  of  a  flower  in  the  heat 
that  precedes  the  whirlwind,  he  changed  his 
tone,  and  with  a  serene  voice,  said  "  come, 
come,  every  thing  depends  upon  you,  upon 
your  judgment.  I  know  that  you  have  a 
great  deal,  and  that  you  are  not  a  girl  to  ruin 
what  has  been  well  done,  at  the  last  moment, 
but  I  must  anticipate  every  thing.  Let  no 
more  be  said  about  it,  and  let  us  be  agreed 
upon  this,  that  your  answers  shall  be  frank,  so 
as  to  create  no  doubts  in  the  mind  of  that  good 
man.  In  this  way  you  will  get  through  with 
him  much  quicker." 

And  here,  after  suggesting  some  answers  to 
the  contingent  interrogatories,  he  began  as 
usual  to  talk  about  the  pleasures  and  the  en- 
joyments that  were  prepared  for  Gertrude  in 
the  monastery,  and  consumed  the  time  on  this 
subject  until  a  servant  came  to  announce  the 
examiner.  The  prince,  alter  briefly  recapi- 
tulating the  most  important  hints,  lefl  his 
daughter  alone  with  the  vicar,  as  it  was  pre- 
scribed. 

The  good  man  came  with  a  bit  of  an  opi- 
nion of  his  own,  already  made  up,  that  Ger- 
trude felt  a  great  vocation  for  the  cloister, 
because  the  prince  had  told  him  so  when  he 
went  to  invite  him.  It  is  true,  the  good  priest, 
knowing  mistrust  to  be  one  of  the  most  neces- 
sary virtues  of  his  office,  had  for  a  maxim  to 
be  slow  in  believing  similar  protestations,  and 
to  be  on  his  guard  against  prepossessions ;  but 
it  very  rarely  occurs  that  affirmative  and  posi- 
tive declarations,  of  whatever  kind  of  persons 
in  authority,  fail  in  tinging  a  little  with  their 
own  color  the  mind  of  the  person  who  listens 
to  them.  After  the  usual  salutations, "  Young 
lady,"  said  he,  "  I  come  here  to  act  the  part 
of  the  tempter,  to  put  in  doubt  what  in  your 
petition  you  have  rendered  certain,  and  to 
place  before  your  eyes  the  difficulties  which 
stand  in  the  way,  in  order  to  ascertain  if  you 
have  considered  them  well.  Suffer  me  to 
ask  you  some  questions." 

"Ask  what  you  please,"  answered  Ger- 
trude. 

The  good  priest  then  began  to  interrogate 
her  in  the  form  prescribed  by  the  regulations. 
"  Do  you  feel  in  your  heart  a  free,  spontaneous 
determination  to  become  a  nun  ?  Have  no 
threats  or  inducements  been  held  out  to  you  ? 
Has  the  authority  of  any  one  urged  you  to 
take  this  step  ?  Speak  without  reserve,  and 
with  sincerity  to  a  man  whose  duty  it  is  to 


68 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


learn  your  true  inclination,  in  order  to  prevent 
any  kind  of  violence  being  done  to  you." 

The  true  answer  to  these  questions  rose  up 
instantly  in  the  mind  of  Gertrude  with  a  ter- 
rible force.  To  give  such  an  answer,  it  was 
necessary  to  come  to  an  explanation,  tell  what 
she  was  threatened  with,  relate  her  story. 
The  unhappy  girl  turned  away,  frightened 
from  this  idea,  and  flew  immediately  to  ano- 
ther that  would  quicker  and  better  spare  her 
such  an  effort.  "  I  become  a  nun,"  said  she, 
concealing  her  perturbation,  "  I  become  a 
nun,  of  my  own  accord,  freely." 

"  How  long  is  it  since  this  thought  occurred 
to  you  ?"  asked  the  good  priest. 

"  I  have  always  entertained  it,"  answered 
Gertrude,  feeling,  after  this  first  step,  more 
at  liberty  to  lie  against  herself. 

"  But  what  is  the  chief  motive  to  induce 
you  to  take  the  veil  ?" 

The  priest  did  not  know  what  a  terrible 
chord  he  had  touched,  and  Gertrude  made  a 
great  effort  to  suppress  in  her  face  the  effect 
which  these  words  produced  in  her  mind. 

"The  motive,"  said  she,  "  is  to  serve  God, 
and  to  fly  the  dangers  of  the  world." 

"  Has  it  not  been  some  disgust  ?  some — ex- 
cuse me — caprice  ?  Sometimes  a  momentary 
cause  makes  an  impression  which  seems  as 
if  it  would  be  perpetual — and  then  when  the 
cause  ceases,  the  mind  changes  :  then — " 

"  No,  no,"  hastily  answered  Gertrude,  "  the 
cause  is  what  I  have  told  you." 

The  vicar,  more  with  a  view  to  the  exact 
fulfilment  of  his  duty,  than  because  he  thought 
there  was  any  need  of  it,  insisted  on  pursuing 
the  inquiry,  but  Gertrude  had  determined  to 
deceive  him.  Besides  the  repugnance  she 
felt  to  communicate  her  weakness  to  a  grave 
and  good  old  priest,  who  appeared  to  be  so 
far  from  suspecting  her  of  any  thing,  the  poor 
girl  reflected,  also,  that  even  when  he  might 
prevent  her  becoming  a  nun,  his  authority,  as 
well  as  the  protection  she  could  receive  from 
him,  would  end  there.  As  soon  as  he  was 
gone,  she  would  remain  alone  with  the  prince ; 
and  what  she  would  have  to  suffer  in  that 
house,  he  would  know  nothing  at  all  about, 
or  if  he  should  know,  notwithstanding  his 
good  intentions,  he  would  be  able  to  do  no- 
thing more  than  to  pity  her.  The  examiner 
became  tired  of  interrogating,  before  the  un- 
fortunate young  creature  was  tired  of  equivo- 
cating; and  finding  her  answers  always  con- 
sistent, and  having  no  motive  to  doubt  her 
sincerity,  changed  nis  course,  and  said  what 
he  thought  was  proper  to  confirm  her  in  her 

food  dispositions ;  and  having  congratulate'! 
er,  took  his  leave.  Crossing  the  hall  to  go 
out,  he  met  the  prince,  who  appeared  there  as 
if  by  chance,  and  offered  him  also  his  con- 
gratulations at  the  good  dispositions  he  had 
found  in  his  daughter.  The  prince  to  that 
moment  had  been  in  a  very  annoying  state  of 
suspense,  but  now  he  breathed  again,  and, 
forgetting  his  usual  reserve,  went  in  haste  to 
Gertrude,  overwhelmed  her  with  praises,  ca- 


resses, and  promises,  with  a  cordial  sort  of 
satisfaction,  and  with  a  tenderness  in  great 
measure  sincere ;  so  strangely  is  the  human 
heart  made. 

We  will  not  follow  Gertrude  in  the  conti- 
nued round  of  spectacles  and  amusements ; 
neither  will  we  minutely  relate,  and  in  their 
order,  the  feelings  of  her  mind  during  this 
period;  it  would  be  a  tale  of  distresses  and 
fluctuations,  too  monotonous,  and  too  similar 
to  what  has  been  already  related.  The  ame- 
nity of  the  situations,  the  change  of  objects, 
the  delight  of  driving  about  in  the  open  air, 
made  the  idea  of  the  place  where,  at  last,  she 
must  descend,  and  that  for  ever,  still  more 
odious  to  her.  Still  more  pungent  were  the 
impressions  she  received  from  the  assem- 
blages and  festivities  of  the  citizens.  The 
sight  of  those  spouses,  to  whom  this  title  is 
given  in  the  more  obvious  and  accustomed 
sense,  occasioned  an  envy  and  an  intolerable 
anguish  in  her ;  and,  at  times,  when  observing 
the  aspect  of  some  great  personage  to  whom 
that  term  was  addressed,  she  formed  concep- 
tions of  them  as  being  overwhelmed  with 
happiness.  . 

At  times,  the  pomp  of  palaces,  the  splendor 
of  their  furniture,  tne  buzzing  and  cheerful 
clamor  of  the  conversazioni,  communicated 
to  her  an  hilarity,  and  so  strong  a  desire  to 
lead  a  life  of  pleasure,  that  she  promised  to 
herself  to  retract,  to  suffer  every  thing  rather 
than  return  to  the  cold  and  dead  shade  of  the 
cloister.  But  all  these  resolutions  evaporated 
on  the  leisure  consideration  of  the  difficulties 
in  her  way,  and  at  a  single  glance  at  the  coun- 
tenance of  her  father.  At  times,  too,  the 
thought  that  she  must  abandon  for  ever  those 
enjoyments,  rendered  even  the  present  taste 
of  them  bitter  and  painful ;  just  as  a  feverish 
invalid  beholds  with  anger,  and  almost  repels 
with  spite,  the  spoonful  of  water  which  the 
physician  reluctantly  grants. 

In  the  meantime  the  Vicar  of  the  Nuns  had 
left  the  necessary  attestation,  and  the  licence 
came  to  hold  a  chapter  for  the  reception  of 
Gertrude.  The  chapter  was  held,  and  as  might 
be  expected,  two  thirds  of  the  ballots  requir- 
ed by  the  regulations  were  in  the  affirmative, 
and  Gertrude  was  accepted.  She,  herself, 
worn  out  by  the  long  struggle,  then  asked  to 
be  received  at  an  early  day  into  the  monastery. 
No  one  of  course  was  opposed  to  her  desire, 
which  therefore  was  granted,  and  at  length, 
after  being  pompously  conducted  to  the  nune- 
ry,  she  assumed  the  habit.  After  twelve  months 
of  noviciate,  full  of  regrets  and  repentance 
of  those  regrets,  the  time  of  profession  arrived, 
a  time  when  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  pro- 
nounce a  no  more  strange,  more  unexpected, 
more  scandalous  than  ever,  or  a  yes  so  often- 
times repeated.  She  repeated  it  this  time  also, 
and  became  a  nun  for  life.  ^fe 

It  is  one  of  the  singular  aij^Bommunica- 
ble  faculties  of  the  Christia^TOBgion,  that  it 
can  lead  and  tranquilize  any  one,  in  whatso- 
ever conjuncture,  at  whatever  crisis,  who  has 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


69 


recourse  to  it.  If  there  is  a  remedy  for  the 
past,  our  religion  prescribes  it,  administers  it 
affords  light  and  strength  to  put  it  in  operation 
at  every  cost ;  and  if  the  past  cannot  be  re- 
paired, it  suggests  a  mode  of  doing  truly  and 
effectually,  what  is  said  by  man  as  a  proverb, 
the  making  a  virtue  of  necessity.  It  teaches 
us  to  pursue  with  wisdom  what  was  begun 
with  ievity,  disposes  the  mind  to  embrace  with 
desire,  that  which  has  been  imposed  upon  us  by 
force,  and  invests,  a  choice  which  was  rash, 
but  which  is  irrevocable,  with  all  the  sanctity, 
all  the  resources,  and,  let  us  add  frankly,  all  the 
enjoyments  of  the  vocation.  It  is  a  road  so 
constructed,  that  from  whatsoever  labyrinth, 
whatsoever  precipice  a  man  reaches  and  stands 
upon  it,  he  can  from  that  instant  walk  on  it 
with  security  and  pleasure,  and  terminate  a 
cheerful  journey  in  all  happiness. 

By  such  means  Gertrude  might  have  been  a 
holy  and  contented  nun,  notwithstanding  the 
manner  in  which  she  had  become  one :  but 
the  unhappy  woman  still  struggled  under  her 
yoke,  and  thus  felt  still  more  bruised  and 
borne  down  by  it.  The  incessant  recurrence 
of  lost  liberty,  the  abhorrence  of  her  present 
state,  a  tedious  wandering  after  desires  that 
could  never  be  satisfied,  such  were  the  princi- 
pal occupations  of  her  mind.  She  revolved 
over  again  the  bitter  past,  rearranged  in  her 
memory  all  the  circumstances  which  had 
brought  her  to  the  pass  where  she  was,  and  a 
thousand  times  undid  vainly  in  thought,  that 
which  she  had  made  real  by  her  action.  She 
accused  herself  of  cowardice,  others  of  tyran- 
ny and  perfidy,  and  preyed  upon  herself  inter- 
nally. She  wept,  whilst  she  idolized  it,  over 
her  own  beauty.  She  deplored  that  youth 
which  was  to  be  passed  in  a  tedious  martyr- 
dom ;  and  at  certain  moments  envied  every  wo- 
man, of  whatever  condition,  who  had  any  ex- 
cuse for  enjoying  those  gifts  freely  in  the 
world. 

The  sight  of  those  nuns  who  had  co-operat- 
ed to  bring  her  there,  was  odious  to  her.  She 
remembered  the  arts  and  the  schemes  they 
had  worked  with,  and  paid  them  back  with 
ill-turns,  caprices,  and  even  with  open  re- 
proaches. It  was  generally  more  convenient 
for  them  to  submit  and  to  be  silent,  for  though 
the  prince  had  been  forward  enough  in  tyran- 
nizing over  his  daughter  in  order  to  drive  her 
into  the  cloister,  yet  having  obtained  his  point, 
he  was  not  a  man  to  permit  any  one  to  claim 
to  be  in  the  right  against  his  own  blood ;  and 
the  least  resistance  they  might  make  might 
be  the  cause  of  their  losing  his  powerful  pro- 
tection, or  perhaps  of  converting  their  protec- 
tor into  an  enemy.  It  would  seem  as  if  she 
might  have  felt  a  certain  inclination  for  the 
other  sisters,  who  had  not  stained  themselves 
in  the  dirty  intrigues  of  which  she  had  been 
the  victim,  and  who  without  having  wished 
for  her  as  a  companion,  loved  her  as  such : 
pious,  industrious,  and  cheerful,  they  showed 
her  by  their  eiample,  how  even  in  such  a  place, 
life  could  not  only  be  endured  but  enjoyed.  But 


these  were  odious  to  her  for  other  reasons.  The 
appearance  of  piety  and  content  they  wore, 
seemed  to  reprove  her  inquietude,  and  her  ca- 
pricious deportment,  and  she  let  no  opportu- 
nity escape  of  ridiculing  them  behind  their 
backs  as  bigots,  and  of  sneering  at  them  as 
hypocrites.  Perhaps  she  would  have  been  less 
averse  to  them,  if  she  had  known  or  been 
able  to  divine,  that  the  few  black  balls,  which 
were  found  in  the  ballot  box  that  decided  upon 
her  reception,  had  been  put  there  by  those 
very  nuns. 

Some  consolation,  however,  she  found  at 
times,  in  commanding,  in  the  respect  paid  to 
her  within,  and  in  the  adulatory  visits  paid  her 
by  some  from  without;  in  originating  some 
undertakings,  in  granting  her  protection,  and 
in  being  called  the  Signora.  But  what  conso- 
lation !  The  mind  that  felt  its  insufficiency, 
would  have  sought  from  time  to  time  to  add 
to  it  and  to  enjoy  with  it  the  consolations 
of  religion :  but  these  do  not  offer  themselves 
save  to  those  who  renounce  the  first ;  as  .the 
shipwrecked  mariner,  who,  to  seize  the  plank 
which  will  conduct  him  in  safety  to  the  shore, 
must  first  loosen  his  hand  from,  and  abandon 
the  sea  weeds  and  stems  that  he  had  caught  at, 
in  the  excitement  of  instinct. 

Soon  after  her  profession,  Gertrude  was 
appointed  to  superintend  some  of  the  pupils. 
Imagine  the  state  of  these  young  persons  un- 
der such  a  discipline.  Her  old  companions  were 
all  gone,  whilst  she  retained  all  the  passions 
of  those  days,  and  in  one  way  or  another  the 
scholars  had  to  bear  it  all.  When  it  crossed 
her  mind  that  many  of  them  were  destined  to 
that  kind  of  life  of  which  she  had  lost  every 
hope,  she  felt  a  desire  of  vengeance,  and  a  spite 
against  the  poor  girls ;  humiliating,  irritating, 
and  making  them  pay  in  anticipation  for  those 
pleasures  they  expected  to  enjoy.  Any  one, 
at  such  moments,  who  had  heard  with  how 
much  magisterial  anger  she  scolded  them  for 
every  trilling  mistake,  would  have  supposed 
her  a  woman  embued  with  a  savage  and  un- 
profitable piety.  At  other  times,  the  same 
horror  for  the  cloister,  for  the  rules,  for  obe- 
dience, broke  out  in  excesses  of  humor  of  a 
different  land.  Then  she  not  only  endured 
the  noisy  recreations  of  her  pupils,  but  encou- 
raged them ;  mingling  in  their  games  and  ren- 
dering them  still  more  disorderly :  she  would 
enter  into  their  conversations,  and  carry  them 
on  to  things  beyond  the  intention  with  which 
they  had  begun  them.  If  any  one  said  a  word 
about  the  gossiping  of  the  abbess,  she  would 
go  into  an  imitation  of  it,  making  a  comedy  of 
the  matter,  mimicking  the  face  of  one  nun,  and 
the  deportment  of  another;  then  she  would 
laugh  without  any  restraint,  though  it  did  not 
come  from  the  heart.  Thus  had  she  lived  for 
some  xears,  not  having  either  the  means  or  the 
opportunity  to  do  any  thing  more,  when  her 
fortune  so  determined  it,  that  an  opportunity 
should  present  itself.  Amongst  the  other  pri- 
vileges and  distinctions  which  had  been  ac- 
corded to  her,  to  compensate  her  for  not  being 


70 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


an  abbess,  was  also  that  of  being  lodged  in  a 
separate  quarter.  That  side  of  the  monastery 
was  contiguous  to  a  house  inhabited  by  a 
young  man,  an  avowed  bad  fellow,  one  of  the 
many  who  at  that  period,  with  their  ruffians, 
and  with  the  alliance  of  other  bad  fellows, 
could,  to  a  certain  extent,  laugh  at  the  public 
force,  and  at  the  laws.  We  find  his  name  in 
the  manuscript  to  have  been  Egidio,  and  no- 
thing more.  This  man,  from  a  small  window 
which  looked  upon  the  court-yard  of  that 
quarter,  having  observed  Gertrude  occasion- 
ally strolling  there  in  idle  moments,  incited, 
rather  than  deterred,  by  the  danger  and  im- 
piety of  the  undertaking,  one  day  had  the 
audacity  to  address  her,  and  the  unfortunate 
creature  was  rash  enough  to  answer  him. 

At  first  she  experienced  a  sort  of  satisfac- 
tion, not  very  pure  it  is  true,  but  lively.  In 
the  slothful  void  of  her  mind,  an  earnest  occu- 
pation had  infused  itself,  a  continuous  and 
powerful  new  principle ;  but  it  resembled 
those  restoratives  which  the  ingenious  cruelty 
of  the  ancients  poured  out  to  the  condemned, 
to  invigorate  and  sustain  martyrdom.  A  great 
novelty  took  place  about  this  time  in  her  be- 
havior; she  became  at  once  more  regular, 
more  tranquil,  desisted  from  her  mockeries 
and  complaints,  and  even  became  caressing 
and  agreeable  in  her  manners,  so  that  the 
sisters  congratulated  each  other  by  turns  at  the 
happy  change,  being  far  from  imagining  the 
true  motive,  and  from  comprehending  that 
this  new  virtue  was  nothing  but  hypocrisy 
added  to  her  other  defects.  This  show,  how- 
ever, this  external  fairness,  did  not  last  a  long 
time,  at  least  not  with  the  same  continuity 
and  equality :  the  old  spites  and  the  accus- 
tomed caprices  soon  broke  out  again  ;  impre- 
cations and  ridicule  against  the  cloisteral  life 
were  soon  heard  again,  and  sometimes  ex- 
pressed in  a  language  unknown  in  that  place, 
and  strange  to  her  mouth.  Still  at  every  ex- 
cess repentance  came  behind ;  and  a  great 
solicitude  to  obliterate  the  remembrance  of  it 
by  gentle  conduct.  The  sisters  endured  as 
well  as  they  could  these  changes,  and  attri- 
buted them  to  the  capricious  and  light  nature 
of  the  lady. 

For  some  time  it  appeared  no  one  paid  any 
further  attention  to  it,  but  one  day  that  the 
Signora,  having  quarreled  with  a  lay  sister 
about  some  nonsense  or  other,  forgot  herself 
so  far  as  to  abuse  her  in  a  very  extravagant 
manner,  and  without  desisting :  the  lay  sister 
having  endured  it  a  while  and  bit  her  lips,  at 
length  lost  her  patience,  and  threw  out  a  hint 
that  she  knew  something,  and  that  at  a  proper 
time  she  would  speak  out.  From  that  instant 
the  Signora  had  no  more  peace.  Not  long  alter 
the  lay  sister  was  missing  at  the  accustomed 
offices ;  they  went  to  look  for  her  in  her  cell, 
and  did  not  find  her.  She  was  called  for 
aloud,  and  did  not  answer :  they  sought  here, 
they  sought  there,  they  rummaged  in  every 
quarter,  above,  below,  from  the  cellar  to  the 
garret,  and  she  was  to  be  found  no  where. 


and  who  knows  what  conjectures  would  have 
been  formed,  if,  whilst  searching,  they  had 
not  discovered  a  great  hole  in  the  wall  of  the 
garden,  which  induced  every  one  to  suppose 
she  had  eloped  that  way.  Couriers  were  de- 
spatched by  various  roads  to  pursue  and  over- 
take her :  inquiries  were  made  at  a  distance, 
but  the  slightest  intelligence  of  her  was  never 
obtained.  Perhaps  they  would  have  been  able 
to  find  out  more,  if,  instead  of  looking  at  a  dis- 
tance, they  had  examined  closer  by  digging 
nearer  home.  After  much  astonishment  (for  no 
one  had  supposed  her  capable  of  such  conduct) 
and  many  arguments,  it  was  concluded  that 
she  must  have  gone  off  to  a  very  great  dis- 
tance. And  because  one  of  the  sisters  had 
said,  "  She  has  most  certainly  escaped  into 
Holland,"  it  was  said,  and  believed  in  the 
monastery,  that  she  had  taken  refuge  in  Hol- 
land. The  Signora,  however,  it  seems,  was  not 
of  that  opinion.  Not  that  she  appeared  to  dis- 
credit it,  or  to  oppose  the  general  belief  with 
her  own  reasons ;  if  she  had  any,  certainly 
never  were  reasons  more  closely  concealed ; 
neither  was  there  any  thing  from  which  she 
so  willingly  abstained  as  the  revival  of  that 
story,  or  any  thing  about  which  she  cared  less 
than  seeking  the  bottom  of  that  mystery. 
But  the  less  she  spoke,  the  more  she  thought 
of  it.  How  often  during  the  day  did  the 
image  of  that  female  suddenly  start  up  in  her 
imagination,  there  plant  itself,  and  remain  im- 
movably there.  How  often  would  she  have 
preferred  to  see  her  stand  before  her  alive, 
and  in  her  real  existence,  rather  than  have 
her  constantly  fixed  in  her  thoughts,  rather 
than  be  obliged  to  find  herself  day  and  night 
in  the  company  of  that  shadowy,  terrible,  and 
insufferable  image  ?  How  often  would  she 
have  wished  to  hear  distinctly  her  true  voice, 
her  reproofs,  whatever  she  could  possibly 
threaten,  rather  than  have  eternally  in  the  in- 
most part  of  her  mental  ear,  the  fantastic  mur- 
muring of  that  same  voice ;  and  hear  words  to 
which  no  answers  were  sufficient,  repeated 
with  a  pertinacity,  with  indefatigable  perse- 
verance, that  no  living  person  was  ever  capa- 
ble of. 

It  was  about  a  year  after  that  event  when 
Lucia  was  presented  to  the  lady,  and  had  that 
conversation  with  her  where  we  left  oft'  with 
the  narrative.  The  lady  multiplied  her  inqui- 
ries respecting  the  persecution  of  Don  Rodri- 
go,  and  entered  into  certain  particulars  with 
an  intrepidity  that  was  something  worse  than 
surprizing  to  Lucia,  who  had  never  thought 
that  the  curiosity  of  nuns  could  be  awakened 
respecting  such  matters.  The  reflections,  too, 
that  she  mingled  with  her  inquiries,  and  that 
she  permitted  to  break  out,  were  not  less 
strange.  She  appeared  almost  to  laugh  at  the 
great  terror  in  which  Lucia  had  always  held 
that  cavalier,  and  asked  if  he  was  deformed, 
that  she  was  so  much  afraid  of  him;  and  seemed 
to  think,  too,  that  Lucia's  reserve  would  have 
been  both  stupid  and  unreasonable,  if  she 
had  not  entertained  a  preference  for  Renzo. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


71 


on  this  score,  too,  she  extended  her  inquiries  in 
a  manner  to  surprize  and  cover  Lucia  with 
confusion.  Perceiving  that  she  had  permitted 
her  tongue  to  deal  too  freely  with  the  extrava- 
gant ideas  of  her  brain,  she  endeavored  to  cor- 
rect, and  to  put  the  best  meaning  upon  her 
words ;  but  she  could  not  prevent  Lucia  from 
being  struck  with  a  painful  astonishment,  and 
a  confused  dread.  Scarce  was  she  alone  with 
her  mother,  when  she  opened  her  heart  to  her. 
But  Agnes,  like  a  more  experienced  person, 
cleared  up  with  a  few  words,  all  her  doubts, 
and  explained  the  mystery.  "  Don't  be  aston- 
ished," said  she,  "  when  thou  wilt  have  known 
the  world  as  much  as  I  do,  thou  wilt  find  out 
that  these  are  not  things  to  wonder  about. 
Gentlefolks,  more  or  less,  some  for  one  cause, 
some  for  another,  are  all  a  little  cracked.  It  is 
best  to  let  them  talk,  especially  when  we  want 
their  aid ;  it  is  best  to  listen  seriously  to  them, 
as  if  they  were  saying  wise  things.  Did  you 
hear  how  she  gave  it  to  me  for  talking,  as  if  I 
had  come  out  with  something  monstrous  ?  I 
was  not  frightened  at  her.  They  are  all  so. 
And  with  all  that,  Heaven  be  praised  that  she 
has  taken  a  fancy  to  thee,  and  means  to  protect 
thee  in  good  earnest.  As  to  the  rest,  if  thou 
continuest  to  live,  and  hast  any  more  to  do 
with  gentlefolks,  thou'lt  find  out,  thou'lt  find 
out,  thou'lt  find  out.1' 

The  desire  to  lay  the  father  guardian  under  an 
obligation,  the  complacency  protection  inspires, 
the  thought  of  the  good  opinion  that  would  be 
created  by  a  protection  so  piously  granted,  a 
certain  inclination  for  Lucia,  and  also  a  feeling 
of  satisfaction  at  doing  good  to  an  innocent 
creature,  at  giving  succor  and  consolation  to  the 
oppressed,  had  really  disposed  the  lady  to  take 
to  heart  the  lot  of  the  two  poor  fugitives.  From 
respect  to  the  orders  which  she  gave,  and  the 
interest  which  she  showed  for  them,  they  were 
lodged  in  the  quarter  of  the  fattora,  near  to 
the  cloister,  and  treated  as  if  they  belonged  to 
the  service  of  the  monastery.  The  mother  and 
the  daughter  were  delighted  that  they  had  so 
^oon  found  a  secure  and  honorable  asylum. 
They  would  have  been  pleased  too  to  have  re- 
mained there  unknown  to  every  one,  but  the 
thing  was  not  easy  in  a  monastery,  especially 
when  there  was  a  man  too  deliberately  deter- 
mined to  find  out  one  of  them,  and  in  whose 
soul,  to  passion  and  to  the  pique  he  first  receiv- 
ed, was  now  added  rage  at  having  been  pre- 
vented and  deceived.  Leaving  the  females  in 
their  asylum,  we  will  return  to  nis  place,  at  the 
very  moment  when  he  was  waiting  the  result 
of  his  villanous  expedition. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

JUST  as  a  pack  of  hounds,  after  in  vain  fol- 
lowing a  hare,  return  chop-fallen  to  their  mas- 
ter, their  faces  to  the  ground,  and  their  tails 


dangling  down,  so  in  that  night  of  confusion 
did  the  Bravos  return  to  the  palace  of  Don 
llodrigo.  He  was  walking  backwards  and  for- 
wards in  the  dark,  in  an  old  uninhabited  room 
of  the  upper  story  that  fronted  the  lawn.  From 
time  to  time  he  stopped  to  listen,  and  to  peep 
through  the  chinks  of  the  decayed  shutters,  full 
of  impatience  and  not  free  from  inquietude  ; 
not  only  on  account  of  the  uncertainty  of  suc- 
cess, but  also  ibr  the  possible  consequences, 
this  being  the  most  daring  and  gross  piece  of 
violence  this  worthy  gentleman  had  yet  put 
his  hand  to.  He  reassured  himself,  however, 
by  thinking  of  the  precautions  he  had  taken 
that  no  traces  might  remain  of  his  act,  as  to 
suspicions, — I  laugh  at  them.  I  should  like  to 
know  who  there  is  bold  enough  to  come  up 
here  to  find  out  whether  there  is  a  young  girl 
or  no.  Let  him  come,  let  him  come,  the  im- 
pertinent fellow,  he  will  be  well  received.  Let 
the  friar  come,  yes  let  him  come.  The  old 
mother  ?  The  old  woman  may  go  to  Bergamo. 
Justice  ?  pah,  justice !  The  podesta  is  not  a 
boy,  nor  has  he  lost  his  head. 

And  at  Milan  ?  Who  cares  for  them  at  Mi- 
lan ?  Who  would  stand  up  for  them  there  ? 
Who  is  there  there  that  even  knows  they  exist  ? 
They  are  like  people  lost  upon  the  earth ;  they 
have  not  even  got  a  master;  people  belonging 
to  no  body.  Go,  go,  there  is  nothing  to  tear. 
What  will  Attilio  say  tomorrow  ?  He  will  see, 
he  will  see  whether  I  am  a  man  who  talks  and 
boasts  or  no.  And  then — if  even  there  should 
be  any  trouble — what  do  I  know  ?  if  some  ene- 
my should  make  an  occasion  out  of  this — even 
Attilio  will  be  useful,  the  honor  of  all  my  kin 
is  -pledged  to  me.  But  the  thought  upon  which 
he  most  dwelt,  because  in  it  he  Ibund  both  rest 
from  his  doubts  and  food  for  his  principal  pas- 
sion, was  the  thought  of  the  flatteries,  and  the 
promises  with  which  he  would  sooth  Lucia.  She 
will  be  so  much  afraid  to  find  herself  here  alone, 
in  the  midst  of  these  fellows,  these  hard  visag- 
ed by  bacchus,  I  am  the  only  human  look- 
ing creature  here — that  she  must  have  recourse 
to  me,  she  will  have  to  bend  and  entreat  me, 

and  then .  Whilst  he  was  comingto  these 

fine  conclusions  with  himself,  he  hears  a  noise, 
goes  to  the  window,  opens  it  a  little,  puts  his 
head  partly  out — it  is  them — and  the  litter  ? 
The  devil!  Where  can  the  litter  be  ?  Three, 
five,  eight,  they  are  all  there,  Griso  is  there 
too,  but  the  litter  is  not  there.  The  devil !  the 
devil !  Griso  shall  answer  this  to  me. 

As  soon  as  they  entered  the  house,  Griso  de- 
posited in  a  corner  of  the  room  they  came  into, 
nis  pilgrim's  staff',  his  hat  and  cloak,  and  as  his 
charge  imposed  upon  him — a  charge  that  no 
one  envied  him — went  up  stairs  to  give  an  ac- 
count to  Don  Rodrigo.  He  was  waiting  for  him 
on  the  landing  place,  and  seeing  him  approach 
with  the  stupid  and  awkward  air  the  deluded 
villain  could  not  divest  himself  of,  "  Well,"  said 
he,  or  rather  screamed  out  to  him,  "signer 
boaster,  signer  captain,  signer  leave  it  to  me  V 
"  It  is  hard"  answered  Griso,  remaining  with 
a  foot  on  the  top  stair,  "  it  is  hard  to  be  paid 


72 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


with  reproaches,  after  working  faithfully,  and 
endeavoring  to  do  exactly  one's  duty,  and  even 
risking  one  s  bones." 

"  How  did  the  matter  go  ?  Let  us  hear,  let 
us  hear,"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  and  went  to  his 
chamber,  where  Griso  followed  him,  and  soon 
narrated  all  his  arrangements,  what  he  had 
done,  what  he  had  seen,  what  he  had  not  seen, 
heard,  feared,  remedied,  and  did  it  in  such  a 
manner,  and  with  that  confusion,  and  all  that 
uncertainty  and  stupid  astonishment,  that  were 
necessarily  mingled  together  in  his  ideas. 

"  Thou  art  not  in  the  wrong,  and  hast  con- 
ducted thyself  well,"  said  Don  Rodrigo  "  thou 
hast  done  all  that  could  be  done,  but — but,  that 
there  should  be  a  spy  in  this  house  ?  If  there 
is,  if  I  can  discover  him,  and  discover  him  we 
will  if  there  is  one,  I  will  arrange  him  for  you ; 
I  can  tell  thee  Griso,  he  shall  have  it  in  high 
style." 

"  Signer,"  replied  he,  "  I  am  not  without 
that  suspicion  either,  and  if  it  is  true,  if  ever  a 
rascal  of  that  sort  is  discovered,  put  him  into 
my  hands,  sir,  that  is  all.  Any  one  who  chooses 
to  amuse  himself  by  making  me  pass  such  a 
night  as  this,  he  may  be  quite  sure  I  would  pay 
him  back  again.  But,  taking  it  altogether,  I 
think  I  can  see  there  must  nave  been  some 
other  trouble  in  the  village,  which  now  I  can't 
understand.  Tomorrow,  sir,  tomorrow  the  wa- 
ter will  be  clear." 

"  You  have  not  been  recognized  at  least .'" 

Griso  replied  that  he  hoped  not,  and  the  con- 
versation terminated  by  Don  Rodrigo  giving 
him  orders  to  do  three  things  on  the  next  day, 
which  Griso  might  well  have  thought  of  him- 
self. To  send  two  men  very  early  in  the  morn- 
ing to  give  that  intimation  to  the  consul,  which 
we  have  been  acquainted  with  before :  two 
others  to  the  ruins  to  wander  about  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  keep  off  any  idlers  that 
might  arrive  there  :  these  men  were  to  conceal 
the  litter  until  the  next  night,  when  it  would 
be  sent  for,  it  being  for  the  present  inconveni- 
ent to  make  any  further  movements,  in  order 
not  to  awaken  suspicion.  He  himself  was  to 
sally  out  to  collect  information,  and  send  others 
out  also,  of  the  clearest  headed  and  most  dex- 
trous of  their  Bravos,  to  learn  something  of  the 
causes  of  the  strange  confusion  of  that  night. 
Having  given  these  orders,  Don  Rodrigo  retired 
to  bed,  and  left  Griso  to  do  the  same,  dismiss- 
ing him  with  many  praises,  as  evident  indica- 
tions of  his  being  restored  to  his  good  graces, 
and  of  a  desire  to  excuse  himself  for  the  hasty 
reproaches  with  which  he  had  received  him. 

Go,  sleep,  poor  Griso  !  thou  must  stand  in 
need  of  it.  Poor  Griso !  hard  at  work  all  day, 
hard  at  work  half  the  night,  without  counting 
the  danger  of  falling  into  the  clutches  of  the 
country  people,  or  of  adding  another  procla- 
mation against  him,  for  the  rapt  of  an  honest 
woman,  in  addition  to  those  already  out :  and 
then  to  be  received  in  that  manner !  But !  that 
is  the  way  men  often  pay  for  services.  Thou 
hast  nevertheless  perceived  that  sometimes 
justice  is  done  according  to  merit,  and  that  ba- 


|  lances  are  settled  even  in  this  world.  Go  and 
i  sleep  for  the  present:  another  day  perhaps 
!  thou  wilt  furnish  us  with  othev  proofs  of  this, 
i  and  of  a  more  remarkable  character. 

The  succeeding  morning,  Griso  was  already 
engaged  in  occupation  when  Don  Rodrigo  rose. 
He  sought  for  Count  Attilio,  who,  as  soon  as 
they  met  began  to  joke  with  him,  and  called  out 
"  Saint  Martin!" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,"  replied  Don 
Rodrigo,  joining  to  him,  I  must  pay  the  wager, 
but  it  is  not  that  which  vexes  me.  I  told  you 
nothing,  I  confess,  I  thought  I  would  astonish 
you  this  morning.  But — never  mind,  I  will 
tell  you  the  whole." 

"  The  friar  has  had  a  hand  in  that  matter," 
said  his  cousin,  after  listening  with  more  atten- 
tion, surprise,  and  seriousness  than  might  have 
been  expected  from  such  a  hair  brain.  "  That 
friar"  continued  he, "  that  can  put  a  face  on  like 
a  dead  cat,  and  talk  in  such  a  ridiculous  manner, 
I  take  him  for  a  starched  intriguer.  And  you, 
you  would  not  trust  me,  you  nave  never  told 
me  frankly  what  he  came  here  to  trifle  so  about 
with  you."  Don  Rodrigo  related  the  conver- 
sation between  him  and  father  Christopher. 
"And  did  you  endure  so  much?"  exclaimed 
Count  Attilio,  "  and  did  you  let  him  go  awayr 
just  as  he  came  ?" 

"  What  would  you  ?  would  you  have  me 
bring  on  my  back  all  the  capuchins  of  Italy  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Count  Attilio,  "  if  in 
such  a  moment  I  should  have  remembered  that 
there  were  in  the  world  any  other  capuchins, 
than  that  rash  scoundrel :  but  let  it  pass  with- 
in the  rules  of  prudence  ;  is  the  way  to  take 
satisfaction  of  a  capuchin  altogether  wanting  ? 
The  right  moment  must  be  hit  for  redoubling 
our  politeness  to  the  whole  body,  and  then  you 
may  give  a  good  substantial  basting  to  one  of 
their  members  with  impunity.  Enough,  he  has 
avoided  the  punishment  that  would  have  suit- 
ed him  best,  but  I  take  him  under  my  protec- 
tion, and  I  mean  to  have  the  consolation  of 
teaching  him  how  to  talk  to  men  like  us." 

"  Don't  put  me  in  a  worse  situation." 

"  Trust  me  for  once,  I'll  serve  you  as  a  rela- 
tion and  friend  ought  to  serve  you." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  doing  ?" 

'•'  I  do  not  know  yet,  but  I  shall  most  cer- 
tainly serve  the  friar.  I  will  consider,  and — 
and  my  uncle,  the  count,  who  belongs  to  the 
secret  council,  is  the  man  who  shall  do  me 
this  good  turn.  Dear  good  count,  uncle  ! 
How  I  divert  myself  every  time  that  I  can 
get  him  to  work  for  me ;  a  politician  of  his 
calibre !  The  day  after  tomorrow,  I  shall  be 
in  Milan,  and,  in  one  way  or  another,  the 
friar  shall  be  taken  care  of." 

Breakfast  was  now  ready,  but  did  not  in- 
terrupt their  conversation  about  an  aflair  of 
such  importance.  Count  Attilio  expressed 
his  mind  freely,  and  although  he  took  such 
a  part  as  his  friendship  for  his  cousin,  and  the 
honor  of  the  common  name  required,  accord- 
ing to  the  idea  he  had  of  friendship  and  ho- 
nor, still,  now  and  then  he  could  not  help 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


laughing  a  little  at  the  bad  luck  that  his  rela- 
tion and  friend  had  had.  But  Don  Rodrigo, 
whose  own  affair  it  was,  and  who  thinking 
to  strike  a  great  blow  in  a  quiet  way,  had 
missed  his  aim  and  made  a  great  noise,  was 
agitated  by  more  serious  emotions,  and  dis« 
tracted  by  thoughts  of  the  most  troublesome 
kind.  "  What  fine  stories  they'll  make  out 
of  it,  all  these  bumpkins  about.  But  what 
care  I  ?  As  to  justice,  I  laugh  at  it ;  there 
are  no  proofs,  and  if  there  were  any,  I  would 
equally  laugh  at  them.  In  the  meantime,  I 
have  apprised  the  consul  this  morning,  to  be 
careful  how  he  makes  any  deposition  of  what 
has  happened.  It  would  have  led  to  nothing, 
but  their  gossipings,  when  they  last  so  long, 
tire  me.  It  is  quite  enough  to  have  been  so 
barbarously  tricked  as  I  have  been." 

"  You  have  done  exceedingly  well,"  re- 
plied Count  Attilio.  "  That  said  podesta  of 
yours — that  great  obstinate,  empty  headed, 
tiresome  bore  of  a  podesta — but  he  is  a  right 
sort  of  man,  one  that  knows  his  duty,  and 
when  one  has  to  do  with  persons  of  that 
kind,  one  ought  to  be  very  careful  to  keep 
them  in  good  humor.  If  a  beggarly  consul 
makes  a  deposition,  the  podesta,  however 
well  intentioned  he  may  be,  nevertheless 
must — " 

"But  you,"  interrupted  Don  Rodrigo,  a 
little  vexed,  "  you  spoil  all  my  work  with  your 
constantly  contradicting  him,  and  quarreling 
with  him,  and  even  making  game  of  him 
when  you  can.  What  the  deuce !  can't  the 
podesta  be  a  beast  and  an  ass,  and  still  be  a 
useful  good  sort  of  a  fellow  ?" 

"  Do  you  know,  cousin,"  said  Count  Atti- 
lio, looking  at  him  with  a  comical  sort  of  sur- 
prise, "  do  you  know  that  I  begin  to  think 
you  are  a  little  afraid  ?  Why  you  think  I  am 
serious  even  about  the  podesta." 

"  Come,  come,  have  you  not  yourself  said 
that  he  must  nevertheless — ?" 

"  I  have  said  so,  and  when  any  thing  serious 
is  under  consideration,  I  will  snow  you  I  am 
not  a  boy.  Do  you  know  how  far  I  can  re- 
solve to  go  for  you  ?  I  am  a  man  to  go  per- 
sonally and  pay  a  visit  to  the  podesta.  Ah  ! 
will  he  be  pleased  with  that  honor  ?  And  I 
am  a  man  to  let  him  talk  for  half  an  hour  of 
the  count  duke,  and  of  our  Signor  Spanish 
Castellan,  and  to  agree  that  he  is  in  the  right, 
even  when  he  begins  to  tell  his  stupid  ridicu- 
lous absurd  stories.  I  will  only  throw  in  a 
word  or  two  about  the  count-uncle  of  the  se- 
cret council,  and  you  know  what  effect  such 
words  produce  upon  the  ears  of  the  podesta. 
At  the  end  of  the  account,  he  stands  in  greater 
need  of  our  protection,  than  you  do  of  his  con- 
descension. I  will  do  things  gently,  I  will  go, 
and  leave  him  better  disposed  to  you  than  ever." 

After  these,  and  similar  words,  Count  Atti- 
lio we.it  out  to  the  chase,  and  Don  Rodrigo 
remained  anxiously  expecting  the  return  of 
Griso.  He  at  length  made  his  appearance  to- 
wards the  dinner  hour,  and  gave  an  account 
of  his  proceedings. 
10 


The  uproar  of  that  night  had  been  so  very 
great,  the  disappearance  of  three  persons  from 
a  small  village  was  so  remarkable  a  fact,  that 
the  searches  made  for  them,  whether  dic- 
tated by  interest  or  curiosity,  were  natural- 
ly many,  zealous  and  pertinacious ;  on  the 
other  side,  those  who  knew  a  little,  were  too 
many  to  all  agree  to  be  entirely  silent.  Per- 
petua  could  not  put  her  head  to  the  door  with- 
out being  pestered  with  inquiries  from  this 
one  and  that  one,  to  know  what  it  was  that 
had  frightened  her  master  so>  much ;  and  Per- 
petua  re-examining  and  putting  together  all 
the  circumstances,  and  comprehending  how 
she  had  been  made  a  fool  ot  by  Agnes,  was 
in  such  a  rage  with  her  perfidy,  that  she  was 
really  in  want  of  an  opportunity  to  break  out. 
Not  that  she  went  about  complaining  to  every 
body  of  the  manner  in  which  she  had  been 
bamboozled,  she  did  not  whisper  a  word  of 
that ;  but  such  a  trick  played  upon  her  poor 
master,  that  she  could  not  pass  entirely  over 
in  silence ;  and  especially  when  the  trick  had 
been  contrived  and  attempted  by  that  quiet 
piece  of  life,  that  model  of  a  young  woman, 
and  that  excellent  widow. 

Don  Abbondio  might  resolutely  command 
her,  and  cordially  intreat  her  to  be  silent,  and 
she  could  tell  him  again  and  again,  that  there 
was  no  occasion  to  impress  upon  her  a  thing 
so  very  natural  and  clear;  yet  certain  it  is 
that  such  a  secret  as  this,  remained  in  the 
breast  of  the  poor  woman,  like  new  made 
wine  in  an  old  and  badly  hooped  cask,  which 
ferments  and  bubbles,  and  works  at  such  a  rate, 
that  if  it  does  not  force  the  bung  into  the  air, 
still  it  is  in  such  trouble  that  the  froth  es- 
capes from  between  the  staves,  and  drops  in  so 
many  places  that  you  can  get  enough  of  it  to 
tell  what  sort  of  wine  it  is.  Gervaso,  to 
whom  it  did  not  appear  possible,  that  for  once 
he  could  be  better  informed  than  other  peo- 
ple, to  whom  it  appeared  no  small  glory  to 
have  been  excessively  frightened,  and  who, 
for  having  lent  a  hand  in  an  affair  which  he 
knew  to  be  criminal,  seemed  to  have  become 
a  man  like  the  rest,  was  bursting  with  the 
inclination  to  boast  of  it.  And  although  To- 
nio,  who  thought  seriously  about  the  possible 
inquisitions  and  processes,  and  of  the  account 
he  might  have  to  give,  gave  him  precise  or- 
ders with  his  fist  in  his  face,  yet  it  was  not 
possible  to  stifle  every  word  in  his  mouth. 
And  at  length  Tonio,  after  having  been  on 
that  night  absent  from  home  to  an  unusual 
hour,  returning  with  an  unaccustomed  look 
and  step,  and  with  an  agitation  of  mind  that 
disposed  him  to  sincerity,  could  not  conceal 
the  fact  from  his  wife,  who  was  not  mute. 

Who  said  the  least  was  Menico,  for  scarce 
had  he  told  his  parents  the  story  and  the  ob- 
ject of  his  expedition,  it  seemed  to  them  such 
a  terrible  thing,  that  their  son  should  have 
had  any  thing  to  do  with  spoiling  one  of  Don 
Rodrigo's  undertakings,  that  they  scarcely 
permitted  the  boy  to  finish  his  narration. 
They  laid  on  him  the  strongest  and  most  me- 


74 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


nacing  commands  to  be  careful  not  to  give 
the  least  hint  of  any  thing;  and  the  following 
morning,  it  not  appearing  to  them  that  they 
were  sufficiently  safe,  they  resolved  to  keep 
him  shut  up  in  the  house  for  that  day,  and  j 
some  others  after  it.  But !  even  they  them- 
selves— talking  over  the  affair  with  the  vil- 
lagers, yet  without  appearing  to  know  more 
than  the  others,  when  they  came  to  that  ob- 
scure point  of  the  flight  of  our  three  poor 
friends,  and  of  the  how  and  the  wherefore, 
and  the  where,  added,  what  was  already  al- 
most known,  that  they  had  taken  refuge  at 
Pescarenico.  Thus  even  that  circumstance 
got  to  form  a  part  of  the  common  conversa- 
tion. 

With  all  these  bits  of  information  put  to- 
gether and  united  in  the  usual  way,  and  with 
the  fringe  naturally  attached  in  the  sewing, 
there  was  enough  to  make  up  a  story  of  a 
certainty,  and  a  clearness  more  than  ordinary, 
and  with  which  even  the  most  critical  intellect 
might  be  satisfied.  But  that  invasion  of  the 
Bravos,  an  incident  too  serious  and  too  public 
to  be  left  out,  and  of  which  no  one  possessed  in- 
formation in  any  degree  positive,  that  incident 
it  was  which  rendered  the  story  obscure  and 
perplexing.  The  name  of  Don  Rodrigo  was 
murmured,  all  were  agreed  in  this;  but  for  the 
rest,  all  was  darkness  and  dissention.  Much 
was  said  of  the  two  Bravos  who  had  been  seen 
in  the  street  at  the  approach  of  night,  and  of 
the  other  who  was  at  the  door  of  the  village 
inn ;  but  what  light  could  be  elicited  from  a 
dry  fact  like  this.  The  landlord  was  asked 
who  had  been  at  his  house  the  preceding  eve- 
ning, but  he  did  not  remember  whether  he 
had  seen  any  body  at  all  that  evening,  and 
always  concluded  that  an  inn  was  a  seaport. 
Above  all,  their  heads  were  confounded,  and 
their  conjectures  baffled  by  the  pilgrim  that 
Stephano  and  Carl  Andrea  had  seen ;  that  pil- 
grim that  the  ruffians  wanted  to  kill,  and  who 
Had  gone  away  with  them,  or  who  had  been 
carried  away  by  them.  What  did  he  come 
there  to  do?  It  was  a  pious  spirit  that  had 
appeared  to  aid  the  women ;  it  was  a  wicked 
spirit  of  some  rogue  and  impostor  pilgrim, 
that  always  appeared  at  night  to  iom  those 
that  were  doing  things  that  he  did  wnen  alive ; 
it  was  a  living  and  true  pilgrim  that  they 
wanted  to  kill  because  he  was  going  to  alarm 
the  village  ;  it  was  (now  only  see  what  a  con- 
jecture ! )  one  of  the  ruffians  themselves,  dis- 
guised as  a  pilgrim ;  it  was  this,  it  was  that, 
it  was  so  many  things,  that  all  the  sagacity 
and  the  experience  of  Griso  would  not  have 
sufficed  him  to  discover  what  it  was,  if  Griso 
had  been  obliged  to  depend  upon  their  infor- 
mation to  find  out  this  part  of  the  story. 

But,  as  the  reader  knows,  that  which  em- 
broiled this  matter  so  much  for  others,  was 
exactly  the  clearest  part  of  the  whole  to  him- 
self, using  it  as  a  key  to  interpret  the  other 
matters  collected  by  himself,  anu  by  his  subor- 
dinate explorers,  out  of  the  whole  ne  was  able 
to  compose  a  sufficiently  distinct  relation  for 


Don  Rodrigo.  Shutting  himself  up  with  him 
he  related  the  attempt  made  by  the  two  be- 
trothed lovers  on  Don  Abbondio,  which  na- 
turally explained  why  the  house  was  found 
empty,  and  why  the  bell  was  rung,  without 
its  being  necessary  to  suppose  there  were  any 
traitors  (as  these  two  honest  persons  called 
them)  in  the  house.  He  told  him  of  their 
flight,  and  even  of  this  it  was  easy  to  find  more 
than  one  cause ;  the  fear  of  the  lovers  sur- 
prised in  doing  what  was  wrong,  or  some  in- 
formation about  the  invasion  of  the  Bravos, 
given  to  them  when  it  was  discovered,  and 
the  village  roused.  Finally,  he  stated  that 
they  had  taken  refuge  at  Pascarenico,  and 
further  than  that  his  information  did  not  go. 

Don  Rodrigo  was  pleased  at  being  certain 
no  one  had  betrayed  him,  and  at  learning  that 
no  traces  of  his  act  remained,  but  it  was  a 
rapid  and  slight  satisfaction.  "  Fled  together  !" 
exclaimed  he,  "  together !  and  that  villain  of 
a  friar !  that  friar ! "  the  word  came  hoarsely 
from  his  throat,  and  muttered  between  his 
teeth,  which  were  biting  his  fingers ;  his  as- 
pect was  as  brutal  as  his  passions.  "  That 
friar  shall  pay  me  for  this.  Griso !  they  are 
not  what  I  am — I  want  to  know — I  want  to 
find — this  very  evening,  I  must  know  where 
they  are.  I  have  no  peace.  At  Pescarenico, 
haste — to  know — to  see — to  find.  Four  crowns 
immediately,  and  my  protection  for  ever.  This 
evening  I  must  know.  And  that  villain! 
that  friar !" 

Griso  took  the  field  once  more,  and  the 
evening  of  the  very  same  day  he  was  enabled 
to  bring  to  his  worthy  patron  the  information 
he  wanted  :  and  now  see  how  this  was  done. 

One  of  the  greatest  consolations  of  this  life 
is  friendship,  and  one  of  the  consolations  of 
friendship  is  having  some  one  to  confide  a  se- 
cret to.  Now  friends  don't  go  in  pairs  like 
married  people ;  every  one,  generally  speak- 
ing, has  more  than  one  friend,  so  that  a  chain 
is  formed,  the  beginning  of  which  no  one  can 
discover.  When,  therefore,  a  friend  procures 
to  himself  the  consolation  to  deposite  a  secret 
in  the  breast  of  another,  he  gives  to  this  one 
the  will  to  procure  for  himself  the  same  con- 
solation in  turn.  He  entreats  him,  it  is  true, 
to  say  nothing  to  any  body  ;  and  such  a  con- 
dition, to  any  one  who  would  accept  it  in  the 
rigorous  sense  of  the  word,  would  cut  short  at 
once  the  whole  course  of  consolations.  But, 
generally,  practice  has  established,  that  the 
obligation  does  not  extend  farther  than  not  to 
confide  the  secret  except  to  a  friend  equally 
trustworthy,  imposing  upon  him  the  same 
condition.  Thus  from  trust  worthy  friend  to 
trust  worthy  friend,  the  secret  travels  on 
through  that  immense  chain,  until  at  length  it 
reaches  the  ear  of  him  or  them  whom  the  per- 
son who  first  confided  it,  never  intended  it 
should  reach  at  all.  It  would,  however,  in 
most  cases  have  to  be  a  long  time  on  the  road, 
if  every  one  had  but  two  friends,  him  from 
whom  he  receives  the  information,  and  him 
to  whom  he  communicates  the  matter  to  be 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


75 


kept  secret.  But  there  are  privileged  per- 
sons who  confide  in  hundreds,  and  when  the 
secret  has  got  to  one  of  these,  the  directions 
it  takes  are  so  rapid  and  multifarious,  that  it 
is  no  longer  possible  to  keep  pace  with  it. 

Our  author  has  not  been  able  to  ascertain 
through  how  many  mouths  the  secret  had  is- 
sued mat  Griso  had  orders  to  get  at ;  the  fact  is 
that  the  good  man  who  had  driven  the  women 
to  Monza,  returning  with  his  cart  towards  the 
hour  of  vespers,  to  Pescarenico.  before  he  got 
home,  stopped  at  a  trustworthy  friends,  to 
whom  he  related  in  great  secrecy,  the  good 
deed  he  had  done,  and  what  had  followed ; 
so  that  Griso  was  able,  two  hours  after,  to 
give  Don  Rodrigo  information  that  Lucia  and 
her  mother  had  taken  refuge  at  Monza  in  a 
monastery,  and  that  Renzo  had  pursued  his 
journey  on  to  Milan. 

Don  Rodrigo  experienced  a  wicked  satis- 
faction at  their  being  separated,  and  felt  dia- 
bolical hopes  reviving  within  him  of  attaining 
his  ends.  He  thought  of  the  means  of  ac- 
tiomplishing  them  a  great  part  of  the  night, 
and  rose  in  the  morning  with  two  plans,  one 
determined  upon,  the  other  only  sketched  out. 
The  first,  was  immediately  to  despatch  Griso 
to  Monza,  to  get  clearer  intelligence  about 
Lucia,  and  see  if  any  thing  could  be  attempt- 
ed. Ordering  his  faithful  bravo  then  to  be 
called,  he  put  four  crowns  into  his  hand,  and 
passed  great  encomiums  on  the  ability  with 
which  he  had  gained  them,  whilst  he  deliver- 
ed him  his  orders. 

"  Signor — "  said  Griso,  hesitating. 

"  What  ?     Have  I  not  spoken  clearly  ?" 

"  If  your  excellency  could  send  some  one 
else." 

"How?" 

"  Illustrious  sir,  I  am  ready  to  give  up  my 
skin  for  my  master,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  do 
so ;  but  I  know  that  your  excellency  does 
not  wish  to  risk  the  lives  of  your  people  too 
much." 

"  Well  ?" 

"  Your  illustrious  excellency  knows  very 
well  that  I  have  a  few  bad  affairs  upon  my 
hands,  and — here,  it  is  true,  I  am  under  the 
protection  of  your  excellency;  there  is  a 
troop  of  us — the  signor  podesta  is  a  friend  of 
the  nouse — the  birri*  treat  me  with  respect — 
and  even  I — it  does  me  no  honor  to  be  sure, 
but  for  the  sake  of  a  quiet  life— I,  treat  them 
like  friends.  In  Milan  the  livery  of  your 
excellency  is  known,  but  in  Monza — I  am 
better  known  than  it  is  known.  And  your 
excellency  knows,  that— I  do  not  say  it  by  way 
of  boasting,  that  whoever  could  consign  me  to 
justice,  or  present  my  head,  would  make  a 
good  job  of  it.  A  hundred  crowns,  one  a  top 
of  t'other,  and  the  privilege  of  getting  two 
outlaws  pardoned." 

"  What  the  devil ! "  said  Don  Rodrigo,  "  you 
turn  out,  then,  to  be  one  of  those  lazy  dogs, 
that  has  scarce  spirit  enough  to  snap  at  the 
legs  of  any  one  that  comes  to  the  door,  look- 


r  Police  officers. 


ing  behind  to  see  if  there  is  any  body  to  help 
him,  and  that  has'nt  the  courage  to  go  four 
paces  from  the  house  !" 

"I  believe,  signor  master,  that  I  have  given 
proofs." 

"Then!" 

"  Then,"  Griso  resumed  boldly,  being  thus 
brought  to  the  point,  "  then  your  excellency 
will  just  suppose  that  I  have  said  nothing  at 
all ;  the  heart  of  a  lion,  the  limbs  of  a  hare, 
and  I  am  ready  to  start.  " 

"  I  have  not  said  that  you  are  to  go  alone. 
Take  a  pair  of  the  best  of  them — Sfregiato 
and  Tiradritto,  and  go  in  good  spirits,  and  be 
Griso.  What  the  devil !  Three  such  look- 
ing men  as  you  are,  and  who  pass  on  quietly, 
who  is  there  would  want  to  stop  you  ?  The 
birri  of  Monza  must  be  very  tired  of  their 
lives  to  stake  them  against  a  hundred  crowns, 
at  such  a  dangerous  game.  And  then  beside, 
I  don't  think  I  am  so  entirely  unknown  there, 
that  your  being  my  servant  should  go  for  no- 
thing." 

Having  made  Griso  this  little  reproof,  he  gave 
him  more  ample  and  minute  instructions. 
Griso  took  his  two  companions  and  went  away 
with  a  cheerful  and  bold  face,  but  secretly 
cursing  in  his  heart  Monza,  the  rewards  out 
against  him,  the  women  and  the  fancies  of  his 
patron.  He  went  like  the  wolf  exhaused  with 
fasting,  his  stomach  drawn  up,  and  his  ribs 
staring  through  the  grey  hair,  when  he  de- 
scends from-the  mountain  where  all  is  snow, 
and  proceeding  suspiciously  to  the  plain,  stops 
from  time  to  time  with  his  paws  lifted  up, 
wagging  his  ragged  tail, 

"Raises  his  snout,  and  snufls  the  faithless  breeze."* 
The  which,  whenever  it  brings  him  the  odor 
of  man  or  of  iron,  he  pricks  up  his  ears  at,  and 
rolls  his  sanguinary  eyes,  from  both  of  which 
are  glaring,  eagerness  for  his  prey,  and  the  ter- 
ror of  pursuit. 

As  for  the  rest,  that  beautiful  line,  if  any 
one  wishes  to  know  whence  it  is  taken,  I  have 
it  from  a  strange  unpublished  thing  about  the 
crusades  and  the  lombards,  which  soon  will  be 
no  longer  unpublished,  and  will  make  a  famous 
noise.  I  took  the  line  because  it  suited  my 
purpose  ;  and  I  tell  whence  I  got  it  because  I  do 
not  wish  to  shine  at  the  expense  of  another ; 
and  I  hope  no  one  will  think  that  this  is  an  art- 
ful way  of  mine,  of  insinuating  that  the  author 
and  myself  are  like  two  brothers,  and  that  I 
rummage  his  manuscripts  at  my  pleasure. 

The  other  machination  of  Don  Rodrigo,  was 
how  to  contrive  that  Renzo,  being  now  sepa- 
rated from  Lucia,  should  never  get  nearer  to 
her,  nor  ever  set  foot  in  the  country  again.  He 
thought  of  spreading  some  reports  of  threats 
and  plots,  that  getting  to  his  eais  by  means  of 
some  friend,  might  take  away  even  the  incli- 
nation to  return.  The  most  sure  way,  how- 
ever, he  thought  would  be  to  get  him  sent  out 
of  the  state,  and  to  succeed  in  this  he  felt  that 
it  would  be  much  better  to  make  use  of  jus- 


•  Leva  il  muso,  odorando  U  vento  iufido. 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


tir.e  than  to  employ  violence.  For  example, 
some  color  could  be  given  to  the  attempt  that 
was  made  at  the  parsonage,  it  could  De  de- 
nounced as  an  aggression,  a  seditious  act,  and 
by  means  of  the  doctor  the  podesta  could  be 
made  to  understand  that  it  was  a  proper  occa- 
sion to  issue  a  warrant  against  Renzo.  But  he 
soon  was  sensible  that  it  would  not  do  for  Mm  to 
meddle  with  such  a  scandalous  proceeding,  and 
so  without  tormenting  his  brains  any  more 
about  it,  he  determined  to  consult  doctor  Az- 
zecca-garbugli,  as  far  as  it  was  necessary  to 
make  him  comprehend  his  wishes. 

There  are  so  many  proclamations  !  thought 
Don  Rodrigo,  and  the  doctor  is  no  ass ;  he  will 
be  able  to  nit  upon  something  or  other,  some 
perplexity  to  contrive  for  that  wretched  fel- 
low, or  otherwise  his  name  shall  be  changed. 
But  (how  the  affairs  of  this  world  sometimes 
go)  whilst  he  was  thinking  of  the  doctor  as 
the  most  capable  man  to  serve  him  in  the  af- 
fair, another  person,  one  whom  no  one  would 
have  thought  of,  Renzo  himself,  was  at  work 
most  cordially,  to  serve  him  in  a  way  infinite- 
ly more  certain  and  expeditious,  than  any  that 
the  doctor  could  possibly  have  contrived. 

I  have  seen  more  than  once,  a  dear  little  boy, 
as  lively  at  least  as  there  was  any  occasion  for, 
but  with  every  promise  of  turning  out  a  good 
man,  I  have,  I  say,  seen  such  a  one,  more  than 
once,  busy  towards  night  driving  to  their  pen 
his  herd  of  little  guinea  pigs,  that  during  the 
day  had  been  left  to  run  about  in  the  garden. 
Fain  would  he  drive  them  all  together  to  their 
bed,  but  vain  the  attempt.  One  pushes  oft' to 
the  right,  and  whilst  the  little  herdsman  is 
running  to  get  it  back  into  the  flock,  another, 
two,  three,  go  off  to  the  left,  and  in  every  di- 
rection. So  that  after  getting  rather  impatient, 
he  follows  their  own  plan,  tirst  drives  them  in 
that  are  nearest  to  the  door,  and  then  brings 
up  the  rest,  one,  two,  three  at  a  time,  just  as 
it  happens.  This  is  the  precise  mode  we  are 
obliged  to  adopt  with  our  personages,  having 
shut  up  Lucia,  we  ran  after  Don  Rodrigo,  and 
now  we  must  leave  him  to  look  after  Re.nzo, 
who  is  appearing  before  us. 

After  the  painful  separation  that  we  have 
narrated,  he  pursued  his  road  from  Monza  to 
Milan,  with  such  spirits  as  any  one  may  easily 
imagine.  To  go  far  from  his  home,  and  what 
was  more,  from  his  country,  and  what  was  still 
worse,  from  Lucia,  and  to  be  thrown  on  the 
road  without  knowing  where  he  should  go  to 
rest  his  head,  and  all  on  account  of  that  mon- 
ster !  When  this  image  presented  itself  to  the 
imagination  of  Renzo,  ne  was  overpowered 
with  rage,  and  the  desire  of  vengeance.  But 
then  the  prayer  in  which  he  had  joined  with 
the  good  friar  in  the  church  at  Pescarenico, 
came  to  his  mind,  and  he  became  calm  :  again 
anger  arose  with  him,  but  seeing  an  image 
upon  the  wall,  he  took  off  his  hat  and  stopped 
a  moment  to  pray  once  more,  so  that  during  the 
journey  he  had  killed  Don  Rodrigo  in  his  heart, 
and  restored  him  to  life  again  at  least  twenty 
times. 


The  road  was  at  that  time  sunk  down  be- 
tween two  high  banks,  was  muddy,  stony,  cut 
up  with  peep  cart  ruts  that  after  a  rain  were 
filled  with  little  streams,  and  in  places  where 
they  were  not  ample  enough  to  carry  off  the 
water,  it  was  inundated  and  became  a  com- 
plete puddle,  so  that  it  was  almost  impractica- 
ble. At  such  places,  a  steep  path,  something 
like  rough  steps  to  the  top  of  the  bank,  indica- 
ted that  other  travelers  had  got  into  the  fields. 
Renzo  having  got  up  one  of  these  to  the  high 
land,  looked  before  him,  and  seeing  that  huge 
machine,  the  dome,  by  itself  on  the  plain,  as  if 
it  did  not  spring  from  the  midst  of  a  city,  but 
of  a  desert,  forgot  for  an  instant  all  his  trou- 
bles, and  looked  from  a  distance  upon  that 
eighth  wonder,  of  which  he  had  heard  so  much 
from  his  infancy.  But  after  some  moments 
turning  round,  he  saw  in  the  horizon  that  jag- 
ged chain  of  mountains,  where  he  could  dis- 
tinctly see  his  own  Resegone ;  the  sight  of  it 
made  his  blood  stir,  and  sorrowfully  he  looked 
upon  it  for  some  time,  then  turning,  he  pur- 
sued his  road.  By  degrees  he  began  to  disco- 
ver steeples,  and  towers,  and  cupolas,  and 
roofs  ;  he  now  regained  the  road,  went  on  for 
some  time,  and  when  he  perceived  he  was 
drawing  nigh  to  the  city,  he  addressed  him- 
self to  a  traveler,  and  saluting  him  in  the  most 
polite  manner  he  knew,  said  "  Will  you  have 
the  courtesy,  signer ." 

"  What  do  you  wish,  my  good  young  man  ?" 

"  Could  you  direct  me  the  shortest  road  to 
the  convent  of  the  capuchins,  where  father 
Buenaventura  lives  ?" 

The  man  to  whom  Renzo  addressed  himself 
was  an  easy  inhabitant  of  the  neighborhood, 
who  having  gone  that  morning  to  Milan  on 
some  business,  was  returning  in  haste,  without 
having  done  any  thing  at  aU,  was  very  impa- 
tient to  get  home,  and  would  willingly  have 
excused  Renzo  from  stopping  him.  Neverthe- 
less, without  showing  any  impatience,  he  an- 
swered with  great  gentleness,  "  My  dear  son, 
there  is  more  than  one  convent,  it  would  be 
necessary  for  you  to  explain  to  me  more  clearly 
which  of  them  it  is  you  wish  to  find." 

Renzo  now  drew  from  his  breast  the  letter 
of  father  Christopher,  and  showed  it  to  the 
gentleman,  who  having  read  the  direction 
"oriental  gate,"  restored  it  to  him,  saying, 
"  You  are  fortunate,  my  good  young  man,  the 
convent  you  are  in  search  of,  is  not  far  from 
here.  Take  this  path  to  your  left,  it  shortens 
the  distance ;  you  will  find  yourself  before  long, 
by  the  side  of  a  long  and  low  building,  that  is 
the  Lazaretto,  follow  the  ditch  that  surrounds 
it,  and  you  will  come  to  the  oriental  gate.  En- 
ter it,  and  after  three  or  four  hundred  paces, 
you  will  come  to  a  little  square  with  some  fine 
elm  trees,  there  is  a  convent,  you  can  make 
no  mistake.  God  guide  you,  my  good  young 
fellow."  And  accompanying  these  last  words', 
with  a  very  gracious  gesture  of  his  hand,  he 
went  on.  Renzo  was  both  stupified  and  edi- 
fied with  the  polite  manner  of  citizens  towards 
country  people,  he  was  ignorant  that  this  was 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


77 


not  an  ordinary  day,  and  that  it  was  a  day 
when  cloaks  paid  their  court  to  doublets.  Fol- 
lowing the  road  pointed  out  to  him,  he  reached 
the  oriental  gate. 

At  these  words  the  reader  must  not  let  his 
fancy  run  upon  the  images  now  associated 
with  it.  With  that  broad  and  straight  avenue 
flanked  with  poplars  without,  that  spacious 
opening  between  two  edifices  begun,  at  least, 
with  some  pretension,  to  the  glacis  of  the  bas- 
tions, at  the  entrance,  those  two  lateral  ascents 
regularly  sloping,  leveled,  ornamented  with 
trees ;  that  garden  on  one  side,  higher  up,  those 
palaces  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  of  the  great 
avenue  of  the  suburb.  When  Renzo  entered  by 
that  gate,  the  road  without  went  straight  on  the 
whole  length  of  the  Lazaretto,  which  at  that 
time  could  not  be  otherwise,  then  ran  crooked 
and  narrow  in  a  lane  between  two  hedges. 
The  gate  consisted  of  two  pilasters  with  a  shed 
at  the  top  to  protect  the  wood  work,  and  on 
one  side  a  small  house  for  the  customs.  The 
approaches  of  the  bastions  descended  in  an  ir- 
regular slope,  and  the  ground  was  a  rough  and 
unequal  surface,  covered  with  fragments  of 
stone  and  pottery  thrown  there  by  chance.  The 
street  of  the  suburb  which  opened  upon  any 
one  who  entered  by  that  gate,  would  not  be 
very  dissimilar  to  that  which  presents  itself 
now  to  one  entering  by  the  tosa  gate.  A  sort 
of  canal  ran  down  the  centre  until  within  a  few 
paces  of  the  gate,  and  thus  divided  it  into  two 
tortuous  passages,  covered  with  dust  or  mud, 
according  to  the  season.  At  the  point  where 
was,  and  where  still  is,  the  quarter  called  Bor- 
ghetto,  the  canal  emptied  itself  into  a  sewer, 
and  through  that  into  another  ditch  that  bathed 
the  walls.  Here  was  a  column  with  a  cross 
surmounted,  called  the  cross  of  San  Dionysius, 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left  were  gardens  fenced 
in  with  hedges,  and  at  intervals  poor  small 
houses,  inhabited  for  the  most  part  by  washer- 
women. 

Renzo  enters,  passes,  not  one  of  the  toll-ga- 
therer says  a  word  to  him,  this  appeared  very 
strange  since  from  the  few  persons  of  his  coun- 
try who  could  boast  of  having  been  in  Milan, 
he  had  heard  wonderful  stories  told  of  the  in- 
quiries and  interrogatories  which  were  made 
there,  especially  of  country  people.  The  street 
was  deserted,  so  that  if  he  had  not  heard  a  dis- 
tant murmuring  which  indicated  a  great  move- 
ment, he  might  have  thought  himself  in  an 
abandoned  city.  Advancing,  without  know- 
ing what  to  think  of  it,  he  perceived  upon  the 
ground  certain  white  lines,  like  snow,  but  it 
could  not  be  snow,  snow  does  not  fall  in  lines, 
and  not  usually  at  that  season.  He  bent  down 
over  one  of  them,  observed  it,  touched  it,  and 
found  out  that  it  was  flour.  Wonderful  plenty, 
said  he  to  himself,  there  must  be  in  Milan,  if 
the  favors  of  God  are  scattered  about  the  streets 
in  this  manner.  And  they  told  us  that  the 
scarcity  prevailed  equally  all  over,  this  is  their 
way  of  keeping  the  poor  country  people  quiet. 
After  a  few  more  steps,  he  arrived  where  the 
column  was,  and  perceived  at  the  foot  of  it 


something  still  more  strange.  He  saw  upon  the 
steps  of  the  pedestal  certain  things  scattered 
about,  which  certainly  were  not  stones,  and 
which  if  they  had  been  placed  upon  a  baker's 
stall  he  would  not  have  hesitated  an  instant  to 
have  called  loaves  of  bread.  But  Renzo  did  not 
dare  so  soon  to  trust  his  eyes — why,  what  the 
deuce,  that's  not  far  from  being  bread  at  any 
rate.  Let  us  see  what  it  can  be,  said  he,  and 
going  to  the  column,  he  stooped,  and  took  one 
of  them  up ;  it  was  a  real  loaf,  extremely 
white,  and  such  as  he  was  accustomed  to  only 
on  solemn  days.  "  It  is  bread  in  fact,"  said  he 
aloud,  so  great  was  his  surprise.  Do  they  sow 
them  in  this  fashion  here,  in  such  a  year  as 
this,  without  taking  the  trouble  to  pick  them 
up  when  they  fall  ?  This  must  be  the  land  of 
Cockaigne  ? 

After  a  ten  miles  walk  in  the  fresh  morning 
air,  the  bread,  as  soon  as  his  astonishment  was 
abated,  began  to  excite  his  appetite.  Shall  1 
take  it  ?  ne  considered  with  himself;  Poh  1 
they  have  left  it  here  at  the  discretion  of  the 
dogs,  and  a  Christian  may  as  well  make  use  of 
it.  And  at  any  rate,  if  the  owner  should  come, 
I  can  pay  him  for  it.  With  this  idea,  he  put  in 
one  of  his  pockets  that  which  he  had  taken, 
took  up  a  second  and  put  it  in  another,  began 
to  eat  a  third,  and  pursued  his  way  more  uncer- 
tain than  ever,  and  curious  to  find  out  the 
meaning  of  this.  Scarce  was  he  in  motion, 
when  he  saw  people  advancing  from  the 
interior  part  of  the  city,  and  attentively  ob- 
served those  who  first  appeared.  They  con- 
sisted of  a  man,  a  woman,  and  a  few  paces  be- 
hind, a  young  boy,  all  three  with  a  load  that 
appeared  beyond  their  strength,  and  all  three 
in  a  very  strange  figure.  Their  clothes  or  rags 
were  ail  covered  with  flour,  their  faces  also 
were  covered  with  it,  besides  being  in  disorder 
and  heated.  Their  gait  seemed  not  only  pain- 
ful to  them  on  account  of  the  weight  they  car- 
ried, but  distressing  as  if  their  limbs  were 
chafed  and  bruised.  The  man  with  great  ef- 
fort carried  on  his  neck  an  immense  sack  of 
flour,  the  which,  through  its  various  holes,  per- 
mitted some  of  the  contents  to  escape  at  eve- 
ry hitch,  and  at  every  motion.  But  still  more 
extravagant  was  the  figure  of  the  woman  ;  she 
had  an  immense  corporation,  and  two  arms 
curved  out  that  appeared  to  support  it  with  pain, 
they  had  the  appearance  of  two  crooked  nan- 
dies  extending  from  the  neck  to  the  body  of  a 
great  wine  jar :  beneath  her  bulky  stomach  two 
legs,  naked  to  the  knees,  were  seen  stagger- 
ing along.  Renzo  looked  steadily  at  her,  and 
perceived  that  her  bulk  was  formed  by  her 
petticoat  which  she  held  turned  up,  with  as 
much  flour  inside  of  it  as  she  could  possibly 
cram,  and  a  little  more  ;  so  that  from  time  to 
time  some  of  it  flew  away.  The  young  boy 
held  with  both  his  hands,  a  basket  upon  his 
head  full  of  loaves,  but  his  legs  being  shorter 
than  those  of  his  parents  he  remained  a  little 
behind,  and  urging  his  pace  a  little  to  overtake 
them,  the  basket  lost  its  position,  and  some  of 
the  loaves  fell  out. 


78 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


"  What  have  you  thrown  some  more  down, 
you  little  vagabond  ?"  said  the  mother,  grin- 
ning with  her  teeth  at  the  boy. 

"  I  don't  throw  them  down,  they  fall.  What 
can  I  do  ?"  said  he. 

"  Ah !  its  well  for  thee,  that  I  can't  use  my 
hands,"  answered  the  woman,  shaking  her 
fists  as  if  she  would  give  him  a  beating,  and 
away  went  another  farinacious  cloud,  more 
than  would  have  made  such  loaves  as  the  boy 
had  let  fall.  "  Come,  come,"  said  the  man, 
"  we'll  turn  back  to  get  them,  or  some  one  else 
will  get  them.  We  have  been  stinting  ourselves 
so  long,  now  that  we  have  got  plenty  again, 
let  us  enjoy  it  in  peace." 

In  the  meantime  some  more  people  from 
out  of  the  city  came  up,  and  one  of  those  ac- 
costing the  woman,  asked  her  "  Where  do  you 
go  to  get  bread  ?  "  Forward,  forward,"  replied 
she,  and  when  they  were  ten  paces  olf,  added 
grumbling,  "  These  rascally  country  folks  will 
come  and  sweep  out  all  the  bake  houses  and 
all  the  magazines,  and  there  will  be  nothing 
left  for  us." 

"  A  little  for  all,  chatterer,"  said  the  hus- 
band. "  Plenty,  plenty." 

From  this  and  other  similar  things  that  he 
witnessed,  Renzo  began  to  perceive  that  he 
had  got  to  a  city  in  a  state  of  insurrection,  and 
that  this  was  a  day  of  conquest,  that  is  to  say, 
that  every  one  helped  himself  in  proportion  to 
his  will  and  his  strength,  giving  Knocks  back 
in  payment.  How  muchsoever  we  may  de- 
sire to  make  our  poor  mountaineer  cut  a  good 
figure,  historical  sincerity  obliges  us  to  con- 
fess that  his  first  feeling  was  one  of  compla- 
cency. He  had  so  little  to  congratulate  him- 
self about  in  relation  to  the  old  order  of 
things,  that  he  found  himself  disposed  to  ap- 
prove of  any  change  that  might  be  brought 
about.  And  as  to  trie  rest,  he,  for  he  was  not 
a  man  superior  to  his  own  times,  lived  in  the 
common  opinion,  or  rather  the  earnest  belief, 
that  the  scarcity  of  bread  was  caused  by  mo- 
nopolists and  bakers,  and  willingly  lent  him- 
self to  the  opinion  that  all  means  were  just, 
which  took  from  their  hands  the  food  which 
they,  in  his  estimation,  cruelly  denied  to  the 
hunger  of  a  whole  people.  Still  he  proposed 
to  himself  to  keep  clear  of  the  confusion,  and 
was  glad  that  he  was  directed  to  a  capuchin, 
who  would  give  him  an  asylum  and  good 
counsel.  Thinking  in  this  way,  and  looking 
awhile  at  the  new  conquerors  who  appeared 
loaded  with  spoils,  he  proceeded  on  the  short 
distance  which  remained  to  bring  him  to  the 
convent. 

Where  now  arises  that  beautiful  palace  with 
its  lofty  terrace,  there  was  then,  as  there  still 
was  not  many  years  ago,  a  small  square,  and 
at  the  bottom  of  it  the  church  and  convent  of 
the  capuchins,  with  four  great  elms  standing 
in  front.  We  congratulate,  and  not  without 
some  envy,  those  of  our  readers  who  never 
saw  things  as  they  were  then,  it  announces 
that  they  were  very  young,  and  that  they  have 
not  had  time  to  commit  a  great  many  follies. 


Ren/o  went  immediately  to  the  gate,  put  away 
in  his  bosom  that  part  of  his  loaf  which  re- 
mained, took  out  his  letter  which  he  held  pre- 
pared, and  rang  the  bell.  A  little  wicket  with 
a  grate  was  opened,  and  the  face  of  the  bro- 
ther who  was  the  convent  porter,  appeared  at 
it  to  inquire  who  was  there. 

"  A  countryman,  who  brings  to  father  Buo- 
naventura,  a  pressing  letter  from  father  Chris- 
topher." 

"  Give  it  to  me,"  said  the  porter,  putting 
his  hand  to  the  grate. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Renzo, "  I  am  to  give  it  into 
his  own  hands." 

"  He  is  not  in  the  convent." 

"  Let  me  in.  and  I  will  wait  until  he  re- 
turns," replied  Renzo. 

"  Take  my  advice,"  answered  the  friar,  "  go 
into  the  church  'and  wait,  you  can  be  doing 
yourself  some  good  in  the  mean  time.  You 
can't  enter  the  convent  at  present,  at  least." 
Having  said  this,  he  shut  the  wicket,  and  left 
Renzo  standing  with  the  letter  in  his  hand. 
He  advanced  a  few  steps  towards  the  church 
door  to  follow  the  advice  of  the  porter,  but  it 
occurred  to  him  he  would  take  another  peep 
at  the  riot.  Having  crossed  the  square,  he 
reached  the  side  of  the  street,  and,  with  his 
arms  crossed  on  his  breast,  stood  there  look- 
ing to  his  left  towards  the  interior  of  the  city, 
where  the  mob  was  thickest  and  most  clamor- 
ous. The  vortex  attracted  him  :  let  us  go  and 
take  a  look — thought  he,  and  taking  his  loaf 
out  and  mumbling  it,  he  moved  in  that  direc- 
tion. Whilst  he  is  proceeding,  we  will  briefly 
relate  the  probable  causes  and  principles  of  this 
popular  movement. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THIS  was  a  second  year  of  scarcity.  The 
preceding  one  had  been  to  some  extent  sup- 
plied by  the  surplus  of  former  seasons,  and  the 
population  of  the  country,  by  no  means  enjoy- 
ing plenty,  yet  not  in  a  state  of  starvation,  was 
at  the  period  of  our  story,  the  harvest  time  of 
1628,  entirely  unprovided  for.  This  harvest, 
so  anxiously  looked  forwards  to,  turned  out  still 
poorer  than  the  preceding  one,  partly  occasion- 
ed by  the  unfavorableness  of  the  weather,  (not 
only  in  the  Milanese,  but  extensively  around,) 
and  partly  by  man  himself.  The  waste  and 
ravage  of  war,  the  war  we  have  already  spo- 
ken of,  was  such,  that  in  part  of  the  State  near 
where  it  raged,  a  greater  number  than  usual  of 
farms  remained  uncultivated  and  deserted  by 
the  country  people;  who  instead  of  laboring  to 
provide  their  families  with  bread,  were  forced 
to  go  about  begging.  We  say,  a  greater  num- 
ber than  usual,  because  the  insupportable  bur- 
dens imposed  by  a  cupidity  and  rashness 
equally  enormous ;  the  habitual  conduct  of  th» 
permanent  troops,  even  when  all  was  pcac-. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


79 


a  conduct  which  the  sad  documents  of  that 
day  compare  to  that  of  an  invading  enemy ; 
and  other  causes  not  necessary  to  introduce 
here,  were  slowly  producing  that  melancholy 
state  of  things  throughout  the  whole  Milan- 
ese territory :  the  particular  circumstances  of 
which  we  are  now  speaking,  resembled  the 
sudden  irritation  of  a  chronic  complaint. — 
Scarcely  was  the  harvest,  such  as  it  was, 
taken  care  of,  when  the  provisions  for  the 
army,  and  the  prodigal  waste  incident  (hereto, 
diminished  the  amount  so  much  that  the  sup- 
ply began  to  fail;  and  with  want  came  the 
distressing,  yet  salutary  and  inevitable  effect, 
a  great  rise  in  the  price  of  provisions. 

When  the  dearth  reaches  a  certain  point,  an 
opinion  always  springs  up  with  the  multitude, 
that  it  is  not  caused  by  a  real  scarcity.  They 
forget  that  it  had  been  apprehended,  had  been 
predicted ;  they  suppose  all  at  once  that  there 
is  an  abundance  of  grain,  and  that  the  evil 
arises  from  its  not  being  sold  in  sufficient 
Quantities  for  consumption ;  suppositions  en- 
tirely unreasonable,  but  which  flatter  both 
their  anger  and  their  hopes.  The  monopo- 
lisers of  grain,  real  or  imaginary,  the  proprie- 
tors of  land  who  did  not  sell  all  their  grain  at 
once,  the  bakers  who  bought  it — all,  in  fact, 
who  possessed  either  a  large  or  a  smaU  quan- 
tity, or  who  were  reported  to  possess  it,  had 
all  the  blame  laid  upon  them ;  they  were  the 
objects  of  every  one's  complaint,  and  the 
abomination  of  all  men,  whether  well  or  ill- 
dressed.  Men  talked  of  their  storehouses, 
their  propped  up  granaries,  heaped  and  choak- 
ed  with  grain  :  the  immense  number  of  bags 
was  stated,  and  the  precise  and  wonderful 
quantity  of  corn  secretly  sent  into  other  coun- 
tries, in  the  which  it  was  equally  probable 
they  were  crying  out  with  the  same  correct- 
ness and  clamor,  that  all  the  grain  they  pro- 
duced was  sent  to  Milan. 

Then  the  magistrates  were  implored  to  es- 
tablish regulations,  which  always  appear  to 
the  multitude,  or  at  least  have  always  hitherto 
appeared,  so  equitable,  so  simple,  so  effectual 
towards  bringing  that  grain  out,  which,  as 
they  said,  was  now  hid  in  the  ground,  wal- 
led up,  buried,  and  which  would  reproduce 
abundance.  The  magistrates  were  not  idle, 
they  limited  the  prices  upon  some  commodi- 
ties, and  imposed  penalties  upon  those  who 
refused  to  sell ;  but  as  all  human  regulations 
however  clever  they  may  be,  certainly  have 
not  the  talent  of  keeping  off  hunger,  nor  of 
making  grain  grow  out  of  season ;  and  as 
those  in  question  had  not  the  power  of  bring- 
ing provisions  from  places  where  they  mignl 
be  in  abundance,  the  evil  continued  and  kepi 
increasing.  This  was  attributed  by  the  mul- 
titude to  the  remedies  being  too  few  and  too 
inefficient,  and  they  cried  aloud  for  more  lib- 
eral and  decisive  ones.  It  was  their  misfor- 
tune to  find  a  man  just  such  as  suited  them 
for  the  occasion. 

In  the  absence  of  the  governor,  Don  Gonz.a 
lo  Fernandez  de  Cordova,  who  was  iu  camp 


near  the  village  of  Montferrat,  the  great 
chancellor  Antonio  Ferrer,  also  a  Spaniard, 
occupied  his  place  in  Milan.  He  knew  (and 
who  could  be  ignorant  of  it  ?)  (hat  a  moderate 
>rice  for  bread  is  a  very  desirable  sort  of  thing, 
ind  that  by  an  order  from  him,  (here  was  his 
>lunder,)  he  could  establish  it.  He  fixed  the 
meta*  (the  term  applied  to  the  tariff  for  food) 
of  bread,  at  the  price  it  would  have  borne  if 
corn  had  generally  been  selling  at  thirty-three 
ivres  the  moggio,f  whilst  in  fact  it  was  sell- 
ng  at  eighty  hvres.  A  measure  as  effectual 
as  that  of  a  woman,  no  longer  a  chicken,  would 
>e,  who  would  try  to  become  young  again  by 
altering  the  date  of  her  baptismal  register. 

Orders  less  insane  and  less  unjust  nad  more 
han  once  remained  unexecuted  by  the  impos- 
sibility of  their  execution,  but  the  multitude 
watched  over  this  :  what  they  wanted  had  now 
>ecome  law,  and  they  were  determined  it 
should  not  be  evaded.  They  ran  instantly  to 
he  furnaces  to  demand  bread  at  the  taxed 
)rice,  and  required  it  in  a  manner  as  resolute 
and  threatening,  as  passion,  law,  and  physical 
"orce  united,  enabled  them  to  do.  It  may  be 
imagined  how  the  bakers  remonstrated.  It 
was  with  them  nothing  but  exertion,  putting 
aread  in  the  ovens  and  taking  it  out  again 
without  resting ;  for  the  people  having  a  con- 
fused notion  that  the  order  was  a  violent  one, 
besieged  the  bakehouses  continually,  that  they 
might  have  the  benefit  of  this  temporary 
chance :  it  may  be  supposed,  then,  that  this 
incessant  laboring  and  working  in  such  a 
losing  business,  was  not  very  amusing  to  the 
bakers.  On  one  side  the  magistrates  were 
threatening  penalties,  on  the  other  the  people 
were  pressing  and  complaining  at  the  least 
hesitation  to  comply  with  their  desires;  and 
even  deafening  them  with  threats  of  adminis- 
tering justice  with  their  own  hands,  certainly 
the  worst  mode  in  which  it  is  administered  in 
this  world :  there  was  no  escaping,  and  so  they 
had  to  keep  on  baking  and  selling.  But  to 
carry  on  work  after  this  plan,  something  more 
than  severe  orders  and  fearful  apprehensions, 
were  necessary,  the  ability  to  do  it  was  essen- 
tial ;  and  if  things  had  gone  on  in  this  way  a 
short  time  longer,  that  ability  would  have  fail- 
ed them. 

Incessantly  did  they  urge  the  iniquity  and 
the  insupportableness  of  the  task  imposed  up- 
on them,  declaring  that  they  must  throw  their 
tools  in  the  ovens  and  relinquish  the  trade ; 
still  they  got  on  as  well  as  they  could,  hoping 
that  at  some  lucky  moment  or  another  the  great 
chancellor  would  come  to  his  wits  again.  But 
Antonio  Ferrer,  who  was  what  now  would  be 
called  a  firm  man,  answered  that  the  bakers  in 
times  past  had  done  exceedingly  well,  that  in 
time  to  come  they  would  do  a  great  deal  bet- 
ter, and  that  perhaps  it  would  be  taken  into 
consideration  to  give  them  some  indemnifica- 
tion ;  but  in  the  mean  time  they  must  go  on 
baking.  Whether,  indeed,  he  entertained  the 

*  Limit.         f  A  Milanese  bushel  or  measure. 


80 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


opinions  he  endeavored  to  inspire  others  with, 
or  knowing  from  what  he  perceived,  that  it 
was  impossible  to  sustain  the  regulation,  and  so 
wanted  to  shift  the  odium  of  recalling  it  upon 
another,  no  one  can  tell ;  but  the  fact  is  he  did 
not  modify  at  all  the  orders  he  had  issued; 
and  the  decurions  (a  municipal  magistracy 
composed  of  the  nobility,  that  existed  up  to 
the  year  1796)  gave  the  governor,  by  letter,  in- 
formation of  the  present  state  of  things,  that  he 
might  devise  some  expedient  to  tranquilize  all. 

Don  Gonzalo,  who  was  over  head  and  ears 
in  warlike  affairs,  did  what  may  be  easily  ima- 
gined :  he  named  a  commission  upon  which 
he  conferred  authority  to  establish  a  price  for 
bread  that  would  be  satisfactory  to  all  parties. 
Having  assembled  or,  (after  the  Spanish  phra- 
seology of  that  day,)  formed  themselves  into 
a  junta,  and  after  all  sorts  of  compliments  and 
preambles,  and  doubts,  and  difficulties,  and 
concessions,  finding  that  something  must  be 
done,  although  it  was  a  great  game  they  were 
playing  at,  they;  concluded  upon  raising  the 
price  of  bread.  The  bakers  now  breathed, 
but  the  people  became  enraged. 

The  evening  preceding  the  day  on  which 
Renzo  reached  Milan,  the  streets  and  the 
squares  swarmed  with  men,  full  of  indigna- 
tion, their  minds  filled  with  one  common 
thought :  whether  acquaintances  or  strangers 
to  each  other,  they  got  into  groups  without 
any  previous  concert,  almost  without  perceiv- 
ing it,  just  as  drops  of  water  run  down  into 
one  another.  Every  speech  served  to  inflame 
more  and  more  the  auditory  as  well  as  the 
speakers.  Amidst  so  much  excitement,  how- 
ever, there  were  some  more  cold  blooded,  who 
looked  on  with  singular  satisfaction  as  they 
saw  the  waters  becoming  more  and  more 
troubled  :  these  sought  to  increase  the  confu- 
sion by  their  reasoning,  and  by  the  news 
which  such  fellows  know  how  to  fabricate  for 
the  excited  minds  of  others ;  and  they  pro- 
posed not  to  let  the  waters  abate  until  they 
had  fished  in  them. 

Thousands  of  men  laid  down  to  sleep  with 
an  unsettled  feeling  that  it  was  necessary  to 
do  something,  and  that  something  would  be 
done.  They  began  to  assemble  oefore  sun- 
rise— children,  women,  men,  old  people,  work- 
ing men,  and  beggars  crowded  together  at  a 
venture  :  here  whispers  and  loud  voices  were 
mixed  up  together ;  there  whilst  one  was  hold- 
ing forth,  the  rest  were  applauding :  this  one 
repeated  to  the  one  next  to  him  the  inqui- 
ry which  had  been  made  of  himself,  whilst 
another  echoed  the  exclamation  which  had 
reached  his  own  ears :  every  where  disputes, 
threats,  and  expressions  of  wonder  were  heard, 
though  a  very  small  number  of  words  formed 
the  materials  of  all  this  discussion. 

Nothing  was  wanting  but  some  slight  tiling, 
by  way  of  impulse,  to  turn  all  these  words  into 
actions,  and  that  was  not  long  in  coming. 
Towards  day  the  baker's  boys  issued  from  the 
shop,  each*  of  them  with  a  pannier  on  his 
back  full  of  bread,  on  their  way  to  serve  their 


usual  consumers.  The  first  appearance  of  one 
of  these  unfortunate  fellows  near  one  of  these 
groups,  produced  the  same  effect  as  a  lighted 
cracker  would  do  if  it  was  to  skip  into  a  gun- 
powder manufactory.  "  Here's  bread  at  any 
rate,"  cried  out  a  hundred  voices  at  once. 
"  Yes,  for  the  tyrants  that  are  glutted  with 
abundance  and  would  let  us  die  of  hunger," 
said  one  of  them ;  and  approaching  the  boy, 
he  lifted  his  hand  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  pan- 
nier, and  giving  it  a  pull,  said  "  Let  us  see." 
The  boy  turned  red,  and  then  white,  trembled, 
wished  to  say  "let  me  go  on,"  but  the  words 
died  in  his  mouth,  he  slackened  his  arms,  and 
endeavored  to  extricate  them  from  the  girdle. 
"  Down  with  the  pannier,"  was  the  cry.  It 
was  seized  and  pulled  to  the  ground,  the  cov- 
ering torn  off,  and  the  grateful  smell  of  bread 
was  perceived  around.  "  We  are  Christians 
too,  and  must  have  bread  to  eat,"  said  the 
first,  and  taking  a  loaf,  and  showing  it  to  the 
crowd,  he  began  to  eat.  Then  the  rest  seized 
it  also,  and  the  contents  of  the  pannier  disap- 
peared almost  in  an  instant.  Those  who  got 
none,  enraged  at  the  good  luck  of  the  others, 
and  encouraged  by  the  success  of  the  undertak- 
ing, went  in  crowds  after  other  panniers,  and 
emptied  every  one  that  they  met  with.  In  some 
instances  those  who  carried  them  were  ill- 
treated,  and  those  who  had  the  bad  luck  to  be 
out,  and  who  saw  what  wind  was  blowing, 
laid  down  their  load,  and  took  to  flight.  Of 
the  mob,  those  who  had  not  come  in  for  a 
share  of  the  plunder  were  the  most  numerous, 
neither  were  the  others  satisfied  with  what 
they  had  got ;  and  mixed  up  with  these,  were 
some,  who  had  laid  their  plans  to  take  still 
greater  advantage  of  the  disorder,  "To  the 
bakeries,  to  the  bakeries  !"  became  the  gene- 
ral cry. 

In  the  street  called  Corsia  de'Servi,  there 
was  a  bakery,  and  there  is  still  one  at  this  day 
bearing  the  same  name,  a  name  which  in  the 
Tuscan  dialect  means,  II  forno  delle  Grucce  ;* 
but  which  in  the  Milanese  is  expressed  by 
such  whimsical  and  rude  words,  that  the  al- 
phabet has  no  characters  to  express  the  man- 
ner in  which  they  are  pronounced.!  There 
the  crowd  went.  The  people  belonging  to  the 
shop  were  interrogating  the  boy  who  had 
come  back  without  his  pannier,  and  who,  quite 
pale  and  with  his  dress  in  disorder,  was  endea- 
voring to  explain  what  had  befallen  him,  when 
the  rumor  of  a  great  crowd  in  motion  was 
heard,  increasing  and  drawing  nearer:  soon 
the  leaders  of  the  mob  appeared. 

"Quick,  quick,  shut  up  tne  shop ! "  One  rail 
to  get  help  from  the  capitano  di  justizia,\  the 
others  closed  up  the  premises,  barricading  and 
propping  up  tne  doors  in  the  inside.  The 
multitude  in  front  began  to  thicken,  and  to 
cry  out,  "  Bread,  bread,  open  the  shop,  open 
the  shop!" 

And  now  arrives  the  capitano  in  the  midst 


*  The  bakery  of  Crutches. 

f  El  preatin  di  scansc.         }  Captain  of  justice. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


81 


of  a  company  of  halberdiers.  "  Room,  room, 
my  sons  :  go  home,  go  home,  make  room  for 
the  capitano,"  he  and  his  men  called  out. 
The  mob,  not  yet  firm  in  any  purpose,  gave 
way  a  little,  so  that  the  soldiers  reached  the 
shop  and  stood  with  their  backs  against  the 
door,  in  as  good  order  as  they  were  able  to 
do.  "  But,  my  sons,"  said  the  capitano  from 
thence,  "  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  go  home, 
go  home.  Have  you  not  the  fear  of  God  be- 
fore you  ?  What  will  the  king  our  master, 
say  ?  We  don't  mean  to  hurt  you,  but  you 
must  go  home.  That's  good  fellows  !  What 
in  the  deuce's  name  do  you  want  to  do  here, 
as  thick  as  peas  in  a  bag?  Nothing  that's 
good  either  for  the  soul  or  the  body.  Go  home ! 

fp  home  !"  But  those  who  stood  opposite  to 
im,  and  heard  his  words,  if  even  tney  had 
been  disposed  to  obey  him,  could  not  possibly 
have  done  it,  urged  and  thrust  on  as  they  were 
by  those  immediately  behind  them,  who  them- 
selves were  pushed  by  others,  as  waves  are 
by  waves,  to  the  very  extremity  of  the  crowd, 
which  was  continually  increasing.  The  capi- 
tano was  beginning  to  be  tired  of  his  situation. 
"  Force  them  back  a  little,"  said  he  to  the  hal- 
berdiers, "  that  I  may  breathe,  but  hurt  no 
one.  Let  us  try  to  get  into  the  shop ;  knock 
at  the  door — make  them  keep  back." 

"  Keep  back !  keep  back ! "  cried  out  the 
halberdiers,  closing  up  against  the  foremost, 
and  pushing  them  with  the  butt  end  of  their 
arms.  These  shouted,  drew  back  as  well  as 
they  could,  pushing  the  rest,  driving  their  el- 
bows into  their  stomachs,  and  treading  on  the 
feet  of  those  who  were  behind :  there  was 
such  a  shoving  and  squeezing,  and  so  much 
trouble,  that  those  in  the  middle  would  have 
been  willing  even  to  have  paid  something  to 
get  out.  In  the  mean  time,  a  little  space 
having  been  got  near  the  door,  the  capitano 
knocked  and  thumped,  and  called  out  to  them 
to  open  it,  and  th'ose  within  perceiving  his 
situation  from  the  windows,  ran  down  stairs, 
let  him  in,  and  then  his  men,  the  rear  keeping 
the  crowd  off  with  their  arms.  When  all  had 
got  in,  the  fastenings  were  replaced,  the  capi- 
tano ran  up  stairs,  and  rushed  to  one  of  the 
windows.  What  a  commotion  ! 

"  My  sons,"  he  screamed  out,  and  some  of 
them  looked  up,  "my  sons,  go  home.  Every 
one  will  be  pardoned  who  goes  immediately 
home." 

"  Bread  !  bread !  open  the  door !  open  the 
door !"  were  the  words  most  distinctly  heard, 
that  from  the  dreadful  storm  of  vociferation  the 
crowd  sent  back. 

"  Have  a  care,  my  sons,  be  prudent,  don't  go 
too  far.  Come,  come,  return  to  your  homes. 
You  shall  have  bread,  but  not  in  this  manner. 
Hallo !  hallo !  what  are  you  doing  below 
there  ?  at  the  door  there  ?  I  see  you,  be  pru- 
dent !  don't  go  too  far,  you  are  acting  in  a  very 
criminal  way.  I  shall  come  down.  Throw 
that  iron  away,  and  take  your  hands  off. 
Hallo  !  what  ?  Milanese  too,  men  that  are  fa- 
mous all  over  the  world  for  being  peaceable. 


You  have  always  been  till  now 
*  *  *  *.    Cursed  scoundrels  that 


Hear !  hear ! 
the  most  *  *  * 
you  are !" 

This  very  quick  change  in  his  style,  was  oc- 
casioned by  a  stone  sent  by  one  of  those  men 
famous  for  being  peaceable,  and  which  struck 
the  captain  on  the  left  side  of  his  brow,  where 
the  metaphysical  organs  are  supposed  to  lie. 
"Rascals,  scoundrels!"  he  kept  exclaiming, 
shutting  the  window  in  a  rage,  and  getting 
away  from  it.  But  his  imprecations,  if  ne  had 
favored  them  with  as  many  as  he  could  get 
put  of  his  throat,  would  all  have  been  wasted 
in  the  air,  and  driven  back  by  the  tumult  that 
raged  below.  He  was  able  to  relate,  however, 
that  he  had  seen  a  quantity  of  stones  and  iron 
in  the  possession  of  the  people,  the  first  things 
they  had  been  able  to  lay  their  hands  on,  and 
which  they  were  applying  to  the  door  and  the 
windows,  to  force  them  in,  and  indeed  the 
work  was  somewhat  advanced. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  proprietors  and  the 
people  of  the  bakery,  who  had  placed  them- 
selves at  the  windows  of  the  upper  story  with 
a  parcel  of  stones  that  they  had  probably  taken 
up  from  the  court-yard,  vociferated  back  again, 
and  made  signs  to  those  below  to  desist,  threat- 
ening to  fling  their  stones  at  them ;  and  see- 
ing that  it  was  all  in  vain,  they  began  to 
throw  them  in  good  earnest.  Every  one  of 
them  took  effect,  for  the  crowd  was  stowed 
so  thick  that  a  grain  of  millet  could  not  have 
reached  the  ground  without  hitting  some  one. 

"Ah!  you  villains!  you  thieves  !  Is  this 
the  bread  you  give  to  poor  people  ?  Oh  dear ! 
oh  !  now,  now  !  all  together !"  they  screamed 
from  below.  Several  were  wounded,  two  boys 
were  killed.  Rage  increased  the  strength  of 
the  mob,  the  doors  were  forced,  the  iron  bars 
broke,  and  the  crowd  rushed  in  at  every  open- 
ing. Those  within  seeing  how  badly  their 
affairs  were  going  on,  sought  refuge  in  the  gar- 
ret. The  capitano,  the  halberdiers,  and  sowf 
of  the  people  of  the  house  hid  themselves  in 
a  corner  under  the  roof  of  the  house  :  others, 
again,  crept  out  at  the  sky  lights,  and  got  on 
the  roof  like  cats. 

The  sight  of  their  prey  caused  the  conquer- 
ors to  forget  their  design  of  taking  a  sanguina- 
ry revenge  :  flying  to  the  shelves,  they  were 
soon  robbed  of  every  thing  they  had.  Some 
of  them,  however,  quickly  forced  the  fasten- 
ings of  the  till,  thrust  their  hands  into  it,  pock- 
eted what  they  had  pot,  and  then  went  to 
plunder  the  loaves  if  they  could  find  any. 
The  mob  scattered  themselves  through  the  in- 
terior of  the  bakery,  Some  dragged  out  the 
bags  of  flour,  others  tumbled  them  over,  un- 
tied the  mouths,  and  flung  away  pail  of  the 
contents,  in  order  to  reduce  the  weight  suffici- 
ently to  enable  a  man  to  carry  one  off;  whilst 
others,  screaming  "  Stop,  stop,"  after  him, 
caught  in  their  clothes,  or  any  thing  at  hand, 
the  flour  that  was  wasting.  Some  of  the  mob 
got  on  the  kneading  trough,  snatched  an  arm- 
ful of  dough,  and  ran  off  with  it  whilst  it  wag 
dropping  all  around.  Another  seized  the  bolt- 


92 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


ing  cloth  and  went  off  with  it,  lifted  in  the  air. 
Men,  women,  children — going,  coming,  order- 
ing, pushing  one  another  about,  amidst  a  cloud 
of  flour,  rising  and  settling  all  over,  and  cover- 
ing and  whitening  every  thing.  Without,  the 
mob  w»s  composed  of  two  streams  of  people, 
that  wtre  driving  against  and  embarrassing 
each  other;  those  rushing  out  with  their  plun- 
der, and  those  who  were  entering  to  get  some. 

Whilst  this  bakery  was  thus  ransacked,  the 
others  were  far  from  being  quiet  and  out  of 
danger.  But  at  none  of  them  had  the  people 
collected  in  sufficient  numbers  to  venture  to 
attack  them.  At  some  of  them  the  proprietors 
had  got  some  assistance,  and  stood  on  the  de- 
fensive, whilst  at  others,  where  they  were 
weaker,  and  more  apprehensive,  they  had 
come  to  a  sort  of  compromise,  and  distributed 
a  little  bread  to  those  who  had  begun  to  as- 
semble round  the  shops,  so  as  to  induce  them 
to  retire,  not  so  ranch  because  they  were  con- 
tent with  what  they  had  obtained,  but  because 
the  halberdiers  and  the  police,  who  had  kept 
at  a  pretty  good  distance  from  the  serious  as- 
pect of  things  at  the  Bakery  of  the  Greece 
had  assembled  in  sufficient  force  to  keep  in 
check  the  mutinous  groups  at  the  others.  So 
that  the  confusion  and  concourse  of  people 
kept  always  increasing  at  that  unfortunate 
place,  for  all  whose  lingers  were  itching,  and 
who  felt  in  themselves  an  incb'nation  to  be 
enterprising,  went  there,  where  their  friends 
were  in  force,  and  where  things  could  be  done 
with  impunity. 

This  was  the  state  of  things  when  Renzo, 
having  finished  eating  his  bread,  went  up  the 
suburb  of  the  oriental  gate,  directing  his  cotirse 
without  being  aware  of  it,  exactly  to  the  place 
of  tumult.  He  went  on,  sometimes  delayed, 
sometimes  hurried  on  by  the  crowd,  lookiTig 
about  and  listening,  and  trying  to  discover  out 
of  the  uproar  some  precise  information  of  the 
state  of  things.  And  the  amount  that  he  ga- 
thered out  of  the  talking  he  heard,  was  as 
follows : 

"  We  have  found  out  now,"  said  one,  "  the 
infamous  imposture  of  those  scoundrels,  who 
said  that  there  was  neither  bread,  nor  flour, 
nor  grain.  The  matter  is  plain  and  clear  now, 
and  they  can't  tell  us  so  any  more.  Viva 
'abbondanza  !"* 

"  I  tell  you  all  this  serves  to  no  purpose," 
said  another,  "  it  is  a  hole  in  the  water,  and 
it  won't  even  be  that,  if  we  don't  take  summa- 
ry justice.  Bread  will  be  cheap,  but  they 
will  put  poison  into  it,  to  kill  the  poor  just  as 
they  do  flies.  Don't  they  say  that  we  are  too 
numerous  ?  Havn't  they  said  so  at  the  Giunta? 
I  know  it  is  so.  Havn't  I  heard  it  with  my 
own  ears  from  an  acquaintance  of  mine,  who 
is  a  friend  to  a  relation  of  a  scullion  that  lives 
with  one  of  those  rich  men  ?" 

Another  foaming  at  the  mouth  said  things 
that  won't  bear  repeating,  holding  a  ragged 
handkerchief  on  his  head,  his  hair  all  dishe- 

*  Hurrah,  for  abundance  '. 


veiled  and  bloodv  ;  whilst  one  of  his  neighbors 
applauded  him,  by  way  of  consolation. 

"  Make  room,  make  room,  Signori,  if  you 
please,  in  courtesy ;  make  way  for  a  poor 
lather  who  is  carrying  something  to  eat  to  his 
five  children,"  said  another,  who  came  stag- 
gering under  a  great  sack  of  flour ;  and  every- 
one moved  to  let  him  pass. 

"  Me  ?"  said  another,  in  a  lower  tone  of 
voice  to  his  companion,  "  J  shall  not  commit 
myself.  I  am  a  man  of  the  world,  and  I  know 
how  things  of  this  kfnd  tarn  out.  These 
thick  heaaed  fools  that  are  blustering  now,  to- 
morrow will  stay  at  home  frightened  to  death. 
1  have  already  obserrecf  certain  honest  phizzes 
prowling  about,  observing  who  is  here  and 
who  is  not  here ;  when  it  is  all  over,  they'll 
make  their  report,  and  it  will  be  all  the  worse 
for  some  of  them."  "He  who  protects  the 
bakers,"  screamed  out  one  who  attracted  the 
attention  of  Renzo,  "  is  the  Vicario  di  pro- 
visione."*  "They  are  all  villains  together," 
said  another  nigh  him.  "Yes,  but  he  is  the 
head  of  them,  answered  the  first. 

The  vicario  was  chosen  every  year  by  the 
governor,  out  of  a  hst  of  six  noblemen  formed 
by  the  council  of  decurions  ;  he  was  the  pre- 
sident of  this  council,  and  of  the  tribunal 
of  provisions;  the  which,  also  composed  of 
twelve  noblemen,  was  charged,  along  with 
other  duties,  principally  with  that  of  seeing 
the  city  supplied.  A  functionary  of  this  kind, 
was  necessarily,  at  a  period  of  so  much  igno- 
rance and  want,  charged  with  being  the  cause 
of  the  evil,  unless  indeeif  he  had  followed  the 
example  of  Ferrer,  a  thing  which  did  not  fall 
within  his  duty,  if  even  he  could  have  thought 
of  it. 

'  "Cheating  rascals!"  exclaimed  another, 
"  could  any  oody  have  behaved  worse  ?  Why 
they  have  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  the  great 
chancellor  has  got  into  his  second  childhood, 
just  to  discredit  him,  and  to  get  the  command 
themselves.  We  ought  to  get  a  great  heir- 
eoop  and  slnrt  them  up  in  it,  and  feed  them  on 
retches  and1  cockle  seeds,  aa  they  want  to  feed 
us."  "Bread,  indeed?"  said  one  who  WES 
hurrying  on,  "Bread?"  stone  loaves  flung  at 
one !  stones  df  that  size,  coming  down  like 
hail !  oh,  my  poor  ribs,  I  wish  I  was  at  home !" 

Amidst  expressions  of  this  kind,  from  which 
it  is  difficult  to  say  whether  he  was  most  con- 
fused or  instructed,  and  the  jostling  he  got, 
Reirzo  at  last  got  to  the  bakery.  The  mob 
had  begun  to  thin  off,  so  that  he  could  have  a 
fair  view  of  the  recent  destruction  of  the  pre- 
mises. The  walls  battered,  and  the  plaster 
knocked  off  by  stones  ami  bricks,  the  windows 
torn  to  pieces,  and  the  door  broken  in.  This 
is  a  bad  way  of  remedying  things,  thought 
Renzo ;  if  they  treat  all  the  bakeries  in  this 
way,  where  will  any  bread  be  made  ?  In  the 
wells? 

Every  now  and  then  some  one  came  out  of 
the  house  carrying  part  of  a  chest  or  a  knead- 


*  Vicar  of  provisions. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


83 


ing  trough,  or  a  cloth,  or  a  basket,  or  some- 
thing belonging  to  the  unfortunate  bakery, 
and  bawling  out,  "  Make  room,  make  room," 
passed  through  the  crowd.  They  all  went  in 
the  same  direction,  to  a  particular  place,  where 
they  stopped.  Renzo  wanted  to  see  also  the 
reason  of  this,  and  followed  one  of  them,  who, 
with  a  heap  of  broken  plank  and  pieces  of 
wood  on  his  shoulders,  was  going  in  the  same 
direction  as  the  rest,  along  the  street  that  pass- 
es the  north  side  of  the  cathedral,  and  takes 
its  name  from  the  steps*  that  were  there,  even 
a  short  time  ago.  Our  young  mountaineer, 
being  arrived  before  this  great  edifice,  not- 
withstanding his  desire  to  see  what  was  going 
on,  could  not  help  stopping  a  moment  to  stare 
at  the  dome  with  his  mouth  wide  open.  He 
quickened,  however,  his  steps,  to  get  up  with 
the  man  he  had  followed,  turned  the  corner, 
gave  a  glance  at  the  great  front  of  the  cathe- 
dral, which  was  far  from  being  finished  even 
then,  and  kept  behind  the  man  who  was 
drawing  near  to  the  centre  of  the  square.  The 
mob  thickened  as  he  went  on,  but  they  made 
way  for  the  man,  who  making  a  track  through 
this  ocean  of  people,  and  Renzo  following  in 
his  wake,  they  both  reached  the  centre  of 
the  crowd.  Here  was  a  ring  round  a  bonfire, 
with  a  heap  of  live  coals,  the  remains  of  the 
things  plundered  from  the  bakers.  Around 
the  fire  they  were  stamping,  and  shouting,  and 
sending  forth  cries  of  triumph  and  impreca- 
tions. 

The  man  threw  his  heap  upon  the  fire,  and 
another,  with  a  wooden  stake  half  burnt,  stir- 
red it  Avell  up ;  the  smoke  thickens,  flames 
burst  forth  again,  and  with  them  still  louder 
shouts  of  exultation.  "  Abundance,  for  ever ! 
Death  to  the  monopolizers  !  no  more  famine  ! 
perish  the  bakeries !  perish  the  Giunta !  bread 
for  ever!" 

To  be  frank,  the  destruction  of  bakeries  and 
the  ruin  of  bakers,  are  not  exactly  the  true 
way  to  get  "bread  forever,"  but  this  is  a 
metaphysical  subtlety  that  rarely  gets  into 
the  head  of  a  mob.  Without  being  a  great 
metaphysician,  a  man  sometimes  finds  that 
tmt  at  first,  before  he  has  thought  much  about 
it,  and  it  is  only  when  he  has  talked  a  great 
deal,  or  has  heard  a  great  deal  said  about  it, 
that  at  length  he  becomes  unable  to  see  it.  In 
fact,  it  occurred  to  Renzo  at  first,  and  occu- 
pied his  thoughts  a  good  deal ;  but  he  kept  it 
to  himself:  for  amongst  so  many  faces,  there 
was  not  one  that  seemed  to  say  to  him — my 
friend,  if  I  am  in  the  wrong,  set  me  right,  and 
I  shall  be  obliged  to  you. 

The  flame  had  subsided  again,  no  one  was 
seen  approaching  with  more  fuel,  and  the  mob 
was  beginning  to  be  annoyed,  when  a  rumor 
was  spread,  that  at  theCordusio,  (a  small  square 
where  four  streets  met  not  far  from  there)  an- 
other bakery  was  besieged.  It  often  happens, 
in  similar  circumstances,  that  the  announce- 
ment of  a  thing  produces  the  thing  itself.  This 

*ScaJini. 


rumor  produced  in  the  multitude  a  desire  to 
go  there. 

"  I'll  go — will  you  go  ?  Yes.  Let  us  go 
then  !"  was  heard  in  every  direction.  The  as- 
sembly moved,  and  went  in  that  direction, 
llenzo  remained  behind,  hardly  stirring,  ex- 
cept when  he  was  dragged  along  by  the  tor- 
rent ;  he  was  counseline"with  himself,  whether 
he  had  better  get  out  of  this  uproar  and  return 
to  the  convent  to  seek  for  father  Buenaventura, 
or  go  and  see  what  would  happen  next.  Cu- 
riosity again  prevailed,  but  he  determined  not 
to  trust  himself  again  in  the  middle  of  all  this 
confusion,  and  get  his  bones  broke  or  some- 
thing worse,  but  to  keep  at  a  distance  and 
look  on.  And  having  got  a  little  way  off,  he 
took  another  roll  from  nis  pocket  and  began 
to  eat,  following  the  rear  of  this  tumultuous 
army. 

Issuing  by  a  corner  street,  that  led  out  of  the 
square  into  the  short  and  narrow  one  of  Pescke- 
ria  vecchia,  the  mob  went  from  thence  by  that 
crooked  arch,  into  the  Mercanti  square.  In 
passing  by  the  niche,  that  is  cut  near  half  way 
up  the  lodge  of  the  edifice  then  called  the 
college  of  physicians,  there  were  but  few  of 
them  who  did  not  give  a  look  at  the  great 
statue  which  was  placed  there,  with  its  seri- 
ous, sullen,  angry  face — and  I  am  not  going 
too  far; — of  Don  Philip  the  second,  who,  even 
in  the  marble,  imposed  a  sort  of  awe,  and  who, 
with  outstretched  arm,  seemed  as  if  he  was 
about  to  say — I  am  here,  I.  you  knaves. 

That  niche,  by  a  curious  circumstance,  is 
now  empty.  About  one  hundred  and  sixty 
years  after  the  period  of  our  story,  one  day  the 
head  of  the  statue,  then  there,  was  changed 
by  some  one,  the  sceptre  taken  fr»m  the  hand, 
a  dagger  put  there,  and  the  name  of  Marcus 
Brutus  placed  on  the  statue.  In  this  manner 
it  remained  perhaps  a  couple  of  years ;  but  one 
morning,  some  persons  who  had  no  great  lik- 
ing for  Marcus  Brutus,  but  who  had  a  secret 
grudge  against  him,  threw  a  rops  round  the 
statue,  pulled  it  down,  and  committed  all  sorts 
of  indignities  upon  it.  Mutilated  and  reduced 
to  a  shapeless  trunk,  they  dragged  it  through 
the  streets,  and  when  they  got  tired,  threw  it 
no  one  knows  where.  Who  would  have  pre- 
dicted this  to  Andrea  Biffi  when  he  sculptur- 
ed it  ? 

From  the  Mercanti  square,  the  clamorous 
crowd  entered  the  small  street  of  Fustagnai,* 
from  whence  the  people  spread  themselves 
into  the  Cordusio.  The  moment  they  entered 
it,  all  eyes  were  turned  towards  the  bakery 
that  had  been  spoken  of.  But  instead  of  the 
numerous  friends  they  expected  to  find  there 
at  work,  they  only  saw  a  few  lingering  and 
hesitating  about,  at  some  distance  from  the 
shop,  which  was  shut  up,  and  at  the  windows 
of  which  were  placed  armed  people,  who  made 
demonstrations  of  a  determination  to  defend 
themselves  if  necessary.  Stopping  for  a 
while  to  inform  those  who  were  in  the  rear,  and 


*  Fiwtian  weavers. 


34 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


to  see  what  the  others  would  do,  a  general  in- 
terrogation began  amongst  them.  During  the 
hesitation  and  confused  noise  of  this  proceed- 
ing, an  accursed  voice  was  heard  from  the 
midst  of  the  crowd,  saying,  "  The  house  of 
the  Vicario  di  provision!  is  close  by,  let  us  go 
and  do  ourselves  justice  and  sack  it."  This 
was  received  more  like  a  signal  to  execute  a 
thing  already  agreed  upon,  than  the  accepta- 
tion of  a  new  proposition.  "  To  the  vicar's  ! 
To  the  vicar's  !"  was  the  only  cry  that  could 
be  distinguished.  The  mob  moved  on  to  the 
street  where  the  house  was,  which  had  been 
unluckily  named. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  unhappy  vicar  was  at  this  moment 
making  an  uncomfortable  sort  of  meal,  eating 
without  inclination,  of  a  little  stale  bread,  and 
was  waiting  in  suspense  for  the  storm  to  sub- 
side, far  from  suspecting  it  was  about  to  fall  so 
tremendously  upon  his  own  head.  Some  kind 
individual  had  in  great  haste  got  before  it,  and 
reached  the  house  in  season  to  apprise  them  of 
the  urgent  danger.  The  servants,  drawn  by  the 
noise  to  the  gate,  looked  in  dismay  down  the 
street,  in  the  direction  of  the  approaching  tu- 
mult. Whilst  they  were  listening  to  the  infor- 
mation just  brought,  the  vanguard  of  the  mob 
came  in  sight,  and  in  great  haste  information 
was  carried  to  their  master.  Just  as  he  was  de- 
liberating about  escaping,  and  how  to  get  away, 
another  ar|ived  to  inform  him  that  he  had  no 
longer  time  to  do  it.  Scarce  had  the  servants 
time  to  shut  the  gate,  which  having  secured 
by  bars  and  props,  they  next  closed  the  win- 
dows, as  people  do  when  a  black  cloud  is  ap- 
proaching, and  the  hail  is  expected  every  in- 
stant. The  increasing  roar  of  the  mob,  de- 
scending like  thunder,  filled  the  empty  court 
yard — every  vacant  place  of  the  house  echoed 
it  back ;  and  amidst  this  immense  and  terrible 
uproar,  the  noise  made  by  the  stones  sent 
against  the  door,  came  thicker  and  louder. 

"The  vicar!  The  tyrant!  The  man  that 
starves  the  people!  We'll  have  him, dead  or 
alive!'' 

The  miserable  man  was  wandering  from 
room  to  room,  pale,  overcome  with  anguish, 
beating  his  hands,  recommending  himself  to 
God,  and  to  his  servants  to  be  firm,  and  to  find 
out  a  way  for  him  to  escape.  But  how,  and  in 
what  way  ?  He  mounted  up  to  the  garret,  and 
from  a  hole  in  the  roof  looked  anxiously  into 
the  street,  and  saw  it  wedged  in  with  madmen  ; 
heard  voices  crying  out  for  his  death,  and 
more  dismayed  than  ever,  sought  the  most  se- 
cure and  concealed  place  he  could  find.  There 
hiding  himself,  he  listened  if  this  horrible  tu- 
mult would  subside  and  abate  a  little  ;  but  per- 
ceiving instead  of  that  that  the  howling  be- 
came more  ferocious  and  loud,  and  the  thunder- 


ings  at  the  door  more  frequent,  his  heart  failed 
him  altogether,  and  he  stopped  his  ears  as  quick 
as  he  could.  Then  as  if  besides  himself,  gnash- 
ing his  teeth,  and  grinning,  he  extended  his 
arms,  and  spread  out  his  hands,  as  if  he  would 
keep  the  door  closed — as  to  the  rest,  what  he 
did  cannot  be  known  very  precisely,  because 
he  was  alone,  and  we  have  nothing  left  but  to 
guess  at  it. 

Renzo  just  at  this  time  was  in  the  very 
thickest  of  the  confusion,  not  hurried  there  by 
the  mob,  but  intentionally  there.  The  propo- 
sition he  had  heard  to  shed  blood,  had  stirred 
up  all  his  own  :  as  to  the  premises  being  sack- 
ed, it  was  not  very  clear  to  him  whether  it  was 
right  or  not,  but  the  idea  of  putting  the  vicar 
to  death,  occasioned  in  him  a  complete  and 
instantaneous  horror.  And  although  through 
that  fatal  docility  of  a  heated  mind,  increased 
by  the  fervid  assertion  of  the  many,  he  was 
entirely  persuaded  that  the  vicar  was  the  im- 
mediate cause  of  the  dearth,  that  he  was  alto- 
gether culpable,  yet  having,  when  the  mob 
first  put  itself  in  motion,  by  chance  heard  a 
few  words  from  some  persons  of  an  earnest  in- 
tention to  endeavor  to  save  the  vicar,  he  im- 
mediately conceived  the  idea  of  giving  his 
own  aid  to  the  same  end,  and  with  this  inten- 
tion he  had  struggled  his  way  through,  nigh  to 
the  door,  that  they  were  battering  in  various 
ways.  Some  with  stones  were  breaking  the 
nails  of  the  lock  in  order  to  destroy  it ;  others, 
with  levers,  chisels,  and  hammers,  were  pro- 
ceeding more  systematically :  many  with  sharp 
stones,  broken  knives,  nails,  and  with  their 
hands,  were  tearing  the  mortar  out  of  the 
walls,  with  a  view  to  get  the  bricks  out,  so 
that  they  might  effect  a  breach.  Those  that 
could  not  help  to  do  the  work,  were  encourag- 
ing the  others  with  their  voices,  and  still  press- 
ing on,  so  as  to  embarrass  the  work,  that  was 
already  sufficiently  retarded  by  the  disorderly 
efforts  of  the  workmen  :  for  God  be  thanked, 
wrhat  sometimes  occurs  to  good  deeds,  also 
happens  to  bad  ones,  that  the  most  zealous 
leaders  are  the  very  persons  who  most  retard 
the  work. 

The  magistrates  who  were  first  informed  of 
the  tumult,  immediately  sent  for  assistance  to 
the  commandant  of  the  castle,  then  called  the 
Castle  of  Porta  Giovia,  and  he  despatched  a 
company  of  troops.  But,  betwixt  the  notice 
and  the  order,  the  collecting  of  the  men,  and 
the  marching  them  olf,  the  soldiers  arrived 
when  the  house  was  surrounded  with  its  be- 
siegers, and  they  were  halted  at  a  considera- 
ble distance,  at  the  extremity  of  the  crowd. 
The  officer  who  commanded,  did  not  know 
what  it  was  best  to  do.  The  assemblage  was 
composed  of  people  of  both  sexes,  ana  of  all 
ages,  unarmed  and  idle.  To  the  intimation 
which  was  given  them  to  disperse,  and  make 
way,  they  answered  by  a  deep  and  continued 
murmur,  but  no  one  movea.  To  fire  upon 
yuch  a  crowd,  appeared  to  the  officer  not  only 
a  cruel  proceeding,  but  one  full  of  danger,  as 
by  injuring  those  least  to  be  dreaded,  he  would 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


85 


have  still  more  irritated  those  who  were  vio- 
lent, besides  he  had  no  instructions  to  do  so. 
To  open  his  way  into  the  mob,  driving  them 
off  to  right  and  left,  and  pushing  on  and  mak- 
ing war  upon  those  who  offered  any  resistance, 
would  have  been  the  most  advisable,  but  how 
was  he  to  do  it  ?  Who  could  tell  if  the  soldiers 
would  have  been  able  to  move  on  united,  and 
in  order  ?  If,  instead  of  separating  the  multi- 
tude, they  themselves  had  got  scattered,  they 
would  have  been  placed  at  the  mercy  of  the 
very  people  they  had  irritated.  This  irreso- 
lution of  the  commanding  officer,  and  the  im- 
movability of  the  soldiers,  looked,  whether  it 
was  so  or  not,  like  fear.  The  common  popu- 
lace that  were  near  them,  were  content  with 
looking  them  in  the  face  with  a  sort  of  "  who 
cares  for  you?"  look;  those  who  were  a 
little  further  off.  did  not  restrain  themselves 
from  making  grimaces  and  sport  of  them : 
further  off  still,  few  knew  they  were  there,  or 
cared  any  thing  about  it.  Those  who  were 
attacking  the  house,  continued  to  tear  the 
walls  to  pieces,  without  any  thought  beyond 
their  own  enterprize,  and  those  who  were 
looking  on,  kept  encouraging  them  with  their 
shouts. 

Of  those  conspicuous  amongst  the  rest,  was 
an  old  man,  who  had  led  a  disreputable  sort  of 
life,  staring  with  his  hollow  and  inflamed  eyes 
wide  open,  contracting  his  wrinkles  into  a 
diabolical  smile  of  satisfaction,  and  with  his 
hands  raised  above  the  locks,  whose  hoary 
whiteness  he  had  dishonored,  was  waving  in 
the  air  a  hammer,  a  cord,  and  four  large  nails, 
with  which  he  said  he  should  like  to  transfix 
the  vicar  to  the  door  posts  of  his  own  house, 
as  soon  as  he  was  dead. 

"Oh!  shame!"  exclaimed  Renzo,  struck 
with  horror  at  these  words,  before  many  of  the 
rest  who  seemed  to  applaud  the  intention,  yet 
encouraged  by  observing  that  some  one  near 
him,  though  silent,  showed  marks  of  being 
equally  disgusted  with  himself :  "  Shame  ! 
what,  shall  we  take  the  executioner's  trade 
away !  murder  a  Christian !  How  do  you  ex- 
pect God  will  give  us  bread,  if  we  commit  ini- 
quities of  this  kind.  He  will  send  thunder 
upon  us,  and  not  bread." 

"  0  !  you  hound !  you  traitor ! "  screamed 
out  another  of  their,,  who  amidst  the  uproar 
had  heard  these  holy  words,  and  who  turned 
to  Renzo  with  the  look  of  a  demon.  "  Stop  ! 
stop  !  here  is  one  of  the  vicar's  servants  dis- 
guised as  a  countryman,  a  spy,  give  it  to  him  ! 
give  it  to  him!"  Then  a  hundred  voices 
arose  :  "  What  is  it  ?  where  is  he  ?  who  is  he  ? 
a  servant  of  the  vicar's — a  spy — the  vicar  is 
disguised  like  a  countryman,  and  is  escaping : 
where  is  he  ?  where  is  he  ?  give  it  to  him — 
give  it  to  him !" 

Renzo  became  silent,  scooped  down,  and 
wanted  to  elude  their  sight:  some  near  him 
assisted  him  to  conceal  himself,  and  with  loud 
and  various  cries  endeavored  to  drown  their 
hostile  and  homicidal  voices.  But  what  more 
effectually  served  him,  was  a  cry  of  "  room 


there!  room  there!''  which  was  now  heard. 
"  Make  room  there !  we  have  got  help,  room 
there,  hollo !" 

What  was  it?  It  was  a  long  ladder  that  some 
of  them  were  carrying,  to  set  up  against  the 
house,  in  order  to  enter  it  by  some  window. 
By  good  luck,  however,  the  means  they  had 
adopted  to  render  the  matter  easy,  was  not  very 
easy  to  carry  into  effect.  The  bearers,  at  each 
end,  pushed  about  from  every  part  of  the  ma- 
chine, and  put  out  of  order  by  the  crowd,  were 
tossed  about  like  waves  :  one  of  them  with  his 
head  between  two  of  the  spokes,  and  the  sides 
on  his  shoulders,  was  bellowing  as  if  he  had  got 
a  yoke  about  his  neck,  the  other  got  a  violent 
push,  and  lost  his  hold ;  the  ladder  went  on  hit- 
ting heads,  shoulders,  and  arms ;  imagine  what 
they  must  have  said  who  got  all  these  knocks. 
Then  others  raised  it  up,  got  under  it,  and  took 
it  on  their  backs,  exclaiming, "  come,  let  us  go 
on."  On  went  the  fatal  machine,  up  and  down, 
to  the  right,  aslant,  and  in  eveiy  direction.  It 
came  just  in  season  to  disconcert  and  throw  in- 
to disorder  the  enemies  of  Renzo,  who  taking 
advantage  of  the  confusion,  and  creeping  on  all- 
fours,  got  away  from  a  place  where  he  was  not 
likely  to  do  very  well,  and  with  the  intention 
of  getting  out  of  the  mob  as  soon  as  he  could, 
and  going  in  good  earnest  to  look  after,  or  to 
wait  for,  Father  Buenaventura. 

All  at  once,  a  movement  commenced  at  the 
other  end  of  the  crowd,  was  propagated  along ; 
a  rumor  began  to  spread  itsell,  and  from 
mouth  to  mouth,  from  chorus  to  chorus,  was 
heard,  " Ferrer !  Ferrer!"  surprize,  pleasure, 
vexation,  joy,  anger,  broke  out  wherever  his 
name  was  heard.  Some  reproach  him,  some 
would  suffocate  him  with  caresses,  some  say  it- 
is  so,  some  say  it  is  not  so,  some  bless,  others 
curse  him. 

"  Ferrer  is  here  ! — it  is  not  true,  it  is  not  true  ! 
yes,  yes,  Ferrer  for  ever !  the  man  that  gives  us 
bread  cheap. — No,  no  !  he  is  here,  he  is  here 
in  his  carriage.  What  does  he  want  here  ? — 
What  has  he  to  do  with  it  ?  We  don't  want  any 
one.  Ferrer !  Ferrer  for  ever !  the  friend  of  the 
poor.  He  is  come  to  make  the  vicar  a  prison- 
er— no,  no,  we  will  do  justice  for  ourselves  : 
back,  back !  yes,  yes,  Ferrer !  let  Ferrer  come! 
put  the  vicar  in  prison  !" 

And  all  of  them,  stretching  their  necks  out, 
turned  towards  the  quarter  where  the  unex- 
pected arrival  was  announced,  but  they  saw 
neither  more  nor  less  than  they  would  have 
seen  if  they  had  kept  still.  Nevertheless,  there 
they  were  all,  standing  on  tiptoe. 

In  fact  at  the  extreme  end  of  the  crowd,  op- 
posite to  that  where  the  soldiers  were,  Antonio 
Ferrer,  the  great  chancellor,  had  arrived  in  his 
carriage,  feeling  probably  some  scruples  of 
conscience,  that  through  his  stupidity  and  ob- 
stinacy, he  had  been  the  cause  of  this  commo- 
tion :  he  had  therefore  come  to  endeavor  to  ap- 
pease it,  to  prevent  what  would  have  been  both 
terrible  and  irreparable,  and  to  make  a  good 
use  of  that  popularity  he  had  not  acquired  in 
the  very  best  manner. 


METROPOLITAN. 


In  popular  tumults  there  is  always  a  certain 
number  of  men,  who  heated  by  passion,  or 
through  fanatic  opinions,  wicked  designs,  or  an 
accursed  inclination  for  disorder,  do  all  they  can 
to  make  the  worst  of  things.  They  propose  or 
promote  the  worst  of  all  counsels,  and  fan  the 
name  whenever  it  is  going  down  ;  nothing  is 
ever  too  much  for  them,  who  delight  in  disor- 
der that  has  neither  method  nor  end.  But  by 
way  of  counterpoise,  there  is  also  another  class, 
perhaps  equally  ardent,  and  equally  persever- 
ing, who  exert  themselves  to  produce  a  con- 
trary effect :  some  moved  by  friendship  or  in- 
clination for  the  persons  threatened,  others 
acting  under  no  other  impulse,  than  that  of  a 
pious  and  natural  horror  of  the  shedding  of 
blood,  and  of  the  perpetration  of  atrocious  ac- 
tions. May  heaven  bless  such  men.  In  each 
of  these  conflicting  classes,  even  when  nothing 
has  been  previously  concerted,  the  conformity 
of  inclination,  produces  an  instantaneous  agree- 
ment in  action.  What  constitutes  the  mass, 
and  the  real  material  of  a  mob,  is  a  mixed 
heap  of  men,  who  by  undefined  gradations, 
fall,  m«re  or  less,  into  one  of  the  extreme  par- 
ties :  some  a  little  fanatic,  some  a  little  knavish, 
;?ome  inclined  to  have  justice  administered  ac- 
cording to  their  own  views ;  some  looking 
anxiously  to  see  some  villany  committed, 
ready  for  any  thing  ferocious  or  merciful,  to 
adore  or  to  execrate,  as  occasions  may  present 
themselves,  to  experience  fully  the  influence 
of  either  one  or  the  other  feeling  •  greedy  every 
moment  to  know,  and  to  believe  any  thing 
however  extravagant,  impatient  to  cry  out,  to 
applaud,  or  to  condemn. 

To  pronounce  sentence  upon,  or  to  idolize  a 
man,  are  words  they  take  the  greatest  delight 
in  uttering,  and  he  who  has  succeeded  in  per- 
suading them  that  a  man  does  not  deserve  to 
be  quartered  alive,  is  under  no  sort  of  necessi- 
ty of  wasting  his  breath  to  convince  them 
that  the  same  person  is  worthy  of  being  carried 
in  triumph :  they  are  actors,  spectators,  tools, 
impediments,  just  as  the  wind  blows ;  ready, 
too,  to  be  silent,  when  no  one  encourages 
them  to  make  a  noise  ;  to  desist,  when  no  one 
instigates  them  to  go  on ;  to  disband,  when  nu- 
merous voices  say  "  let  us  go,"  and  none  contra- 
dict ;  and  then  return  home,  asking  each  other, 
what  has  been  the  matter  ?  But  as  this  mass 
constitutes  the  main  strength,  and  is  indeed  the 
whole  strength,  so  each  of  the  two  active  par- 
ties endeavors  by  ingenuity  to  enlist  it  on  its 
side,  as  if  twoadverse  principles  were  contend- 
ing for  the  possession  of  this  vast  body,  in  or- 
der to  move  it ;  applying  to  those  who  know 
best  how  to  spread  reports  that  will  excite  the 
passions  of  the  rest,  and  to  give  a  direction  to 
movements  for  this  or  the  other  purpose  ;  to 
those  who  knew  how  to  invent  news  that  can 
raise  or  abate  indignation,  hope  or  terror ;  who 
can  set  up  the  cry,  that,  continuously  repeated, 
expresses,  declares,  and  creates  at  the  same 
time,  the  will  of  the  majority  in  favor  of  one 
side  or  the  other. 

We  have  indulged  in  this  gossiping  with  a 


view  to  get  an  opportunity  of  saying,  that  in 
the  contest  between  the  two  parties  that  were 
trying  to  get  the  multitude,  now  crowded  round 
the  vicar's  house,  on  their  side,  the  appear- 
ance of  Antonio  Ferrer  gave  an  almost  in- 
stantaneous advantage  to  the  humane  party, 
which  was  evidently  the  weakest,  and  which, 
if  this  succor  had  been  much  delayed,  would 
have  had  neither  the  means  nor  the  opportuni- 
ty of  contending.  Ferrer  was  a  favorite  with 
the  multitude,  on  account  of  the  tariff  he  had 
put  on  the  price  of  bread,  which  was  his  own 
invention,  and  which  was  so  favorable  to  pur- 
chasers, as  well  as  for  his  so  heroically  hold- 
ing out  against  all  the  arguments  which  the 
sellers  had  addressed  to  him.  Minds  thus  fa- 
vorably disposed,  were  still  more  captivated 
by  the  courageous  confidence  of  the  old  man, 
who,  without  guards,  without  parade,  came 
thus  to  find  and  to  front  an  angry  and  stormy 
multitude.  The  rumor  also  produced  a  won- 
derful effect,  that  he  had  come  to  take  the  vicar 
to  rlrison,  so  that  the  general  rage  against  him, 
which  would  have  greatly  increased  if  any 
one  had  come  to  brave  them,  and  to  make  no 
concessions,  abated  a  little  with  this  promise 
of  some  satisfaction  ;  so  that  by  putting  this 
bone  in  their  mouths,  as  we  say  in  Milanese, 
time  was  given  to  strengthen  those  sentiments 
of  an  opposite  character,  which  were  arising 
in  a  great  portion  of  their  minds. 

The  friends  of  peace,  who  could  now  make 
themselves  heard,  seconded  Ferrer  in  a  hun- 
dred ways  ;  those  who  were  near  to  him,  ex- 
citing and  re-exciting  by  their  own  applause, 
that  of  the  crowd,  and  making  a  combined  ef- 
fort to  keep  the  people  back,  and  open  a  space 
for  the  carriage  :  whilst  others  were  applaud- 
ing, repeating  and  circulating  his  sayings,  or 
such  as  they  deemed  advisable  to  invent  for 
him,  blustering  with  those  who  were  most  ob- 
stinate and  furious,  and  turning  against  them 
the  new  inclination  of  the  fickle  people. 
"  Who  is  there  that  won't  cry,  Ferrer  for  ever  I 
You  did'nt  want  bread  to  be  cheap,  eh  r  Those 
are  bad  men  that  don't  like  justice  to  be  done 
in  a  Christian  way !  and  some  are  making  a 
greater  clamor  than  the  rest,  just  to  let  the 
vicar  escape.  To  prison  with  the  vicar ! 
Ferrer  for  ever !  make  room  for  Ferrer!"  The 
number  of  those  who  talked  in  this  way,  in» 
creased  so  much,  and  the  audacity  of  the  con- 
trary party  was  giving  way  so  fast,  that  those 
who  began  with  reasoning,  now  laid  hold  of 
the  men  that  were  still  trying  to  destroy  the 
walls,  to  force  them  to  desist,  and  to  take  their 
tools  from  them.  These,' furious,  threatened 
also,  and  tried  to  get  them  back  again,  but  the 
cause  of  blood  was  now  lost ;  the  cry  that  pre- 
dominated was,  to  prison — justice — Ferrer ! — 
after  some  resistance,  these  men  were  forced 
away  ;  the  others  then  took  possession  of  the 
gate,  and  to  protect  it  from  fresh  assaults,  and 
to  clear  the  way  for  Ferrer,  intelligence  was 
conveyed  to  those  in  the  house,  (chinks  were 
not  wanting  for  that  purpose)  that  aid  had  ar- 
rived, and  uiat  the  vicar  must  be  kept  in  rea- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


8T 


diness  "  to  go  immediately — to  prison — hem — 
you  comprehend !" 

"  Is  he  the  Ferrer  who  signs  the  proclama- 
tions ?"  asked  Renzo  of  one  nigh  to  him,  for 
he  remembered  the  Vidit  Ferrer  that  the  doc- 
tor had  not  only  pointed  out  to  him  at  the  foot 
of  the  one  he  was  reading,  but  had  read  it 
aloud. 

*'  To  be  sure ;  he  is  the  great  chancellor," 
was  the  answer. 

"  He  is  a  good  man ;  is  he  not  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed,  he  is  more  than  that !  He  is 
the  man  that  put  the  price  of  bread  so  low, 
and  the  others  would'nt  let  it  remain  so, 
and  now  he  is  goin^  to  take  the  vicar  to 

Crison,  who  has  not  done  what  he  ought  to 
ave  done." 

It  is  not  necessary  to  say  that  Renzo  was 
immediately  for  Ferrer.  He  wanted  directly 
to  go  to  him.  It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  do, 
but  with  the  aid  of  a  few  alpine  thrusts  with 
his  elbows,  he  succeeded  in  forcing  his  way, 
and  getting  amongst  the  forwardest,  right 
along  side  of  the  carriage. 

This  had  advanced  some  distance  into  the 
crowd,  and  at  that  precise  moment  had  stop- 
ped, owing  to  the  frequent  and  inevitable  hin- 
derances  it  experienced  in  a  progress  of  this 
kind.  The  old  man  presented,  first  at  one,  then 
at  another  side  window,  a  face  all  humility, 
complaisance,  and  benevolence,  just  such  a 
face  as  he  reserved  for  those  occasions  when 
he  had  to  stand  in  the  presence  of  Don  Philip 
the  Fourth,  but  he  was  constrained  to  use  it 
also  upon  this  occasion.  He  also  spoke,  but  the 
noise  and  confusion  of  so  many  voices,  the  €v- 
vivas  that  were  put  up  for  himself  even,  permit- 
ted very  little  of  what  he  said,  to  reach  but  few 
of  them.  He  therefore  brought  a  few  gestures 
forwards,  conveying  kisses  in  his  drawn  up 
fingers  from  his  lips,  and  then  opening  his 
hands,  and  distributing  them  right  and  left  as 
an  acknowledgment  of  thanks  for  the  public 
kindness  evinced  towards  him ;  and  moving 
his  hands  gently  out  of  the  windows,  to  as£ 
them  to  make  room,  and  then  lowering  them 
politely,  as  if  to  request  silence  for  a  moment. 
When  he  had  partially  obtained  it,  those  near- 
est to  him  who  heard  what  he  said,  repeated 
his  words  to  the  rest.  "  Bread — abundance — 
I  come  to  administer  justice — a  little  room  if 
you  please."  Overcome  and  almost  stunned 
with  the  uproar  of  so  many  voices,  by  the 
sight  of  so  many  faces  crowded  together,  of 
so  many  eyes  fixed  upon  him,  he  threw  him- 
self back  a  moment,  puffed  out  his  cheeks, 
gave  a  great  blow,  and  said  to  himself,  in 
Spanish,  POT  mi  vida,  que  de  gente  .'* 

"  Ferrer  for  ever !  Don't  be  afraid !  You  are 
an  honest  man !  Bread!  bread!" 

"  Yes,  bread,  bread !"  answered  Ferrer,  put- 
ting his  right  hand  to  his  heart,  "  abundance, 
I  promise  it  to  you,"  then,  with  a  loud  voice. 
'•I  am  come  to  make  a  prisoner  of  him,  and  to 
give  him  the  punishment  he  deserves,"  add- 


•  *  By  »y  life,  what  a  number  of  people. 


ing,  "  si  csta  culpable."*  Then  leaning  to- 
wards the  coachman,  he  said  rapidly,  "adelan- 
'£,  Pedro,  si  puedes."^ 

The  coachman  also  smiled  upon  the  multi- 
tude with  an  affected  graciousness,  as  if  he 
bad  been  a  great  personage ;  and  with  ineffa- 
ble politeness,  motioned  with  his  whip  to  the 
right  and  to  the  left,  to  ask  his  troublesome 
neighbors  to  draw  back  a  little,  and  keep  out 
of  the  way.  "  Do  me  the  favor,"  said  he  also, 
"  gentlemen,  a  little  room— just  a  little — just, 
just  enough  to  move  on." 

In  the  mean  time  the  most  active  of  the 
friendly  party  were  doing  all  they  could  to 
make  that  room,  which  was  asked  in  such 
very  gentle  phrases :  some  who  were  before 
the  horses  made  the  crowd  draw  back,  by 
using  good  words,  and  by  pushing  them  gently 
on  the  breast  with  their  hands,  "  there !  there  • 
a  little  space,  gentlemen."  Others  were  do- 
ing the  same  thing  at  the  sides  of  the  carriage, 
that  it  might  proceed  without  going  over  their 
feet,  or  discomposing  their  mustachios ;  which, 
besides  hurting  their  persons,  might  have  en- 
dangered the  high  favor  Fener  now  enjoyed. 

Renzo,  after  looking  for  some  .moments  with 
pleasure  upon  his  dignified  and  venerable  head, 
somewhat  disturbed  by  distress,  and  oppress- 
ed with  fatigue,  but  animated  with  solicitude, 
and  embellished,  as  it  were,  with  the  hope  of 
snatching  a  fellow-creature  from  mortal  an- 
guish, dismissed  all  thoughts  of  going  away, 
and  resolved  to  assist  Ferrer,  and  not  to  aban- 
don him,  but  when  he  had  fulfilled  his  inten- 
tion. As  soon  said  as  done,  he  immediately 
went  to  work  with  the  rest  to  make  room  for 
the  carriage,  and  the  aid  he  gave  was  certain- 
ly not  the  least  effectual :  room  was  made — 
"  Come  on,"  said  more  than  one  of  them  to 
the  coachman,  and  opening  the  crowd  still  be- 
fore them.  "Jldelante,  presto,  conjuirio"^  said 
his  master  to  him,  and  the  carriage  moved. 
Ferrer,  amidst  the  salutations  which  he  dis- 
pensed at  random  upon  the  crowd,  made  a  few 
particular  ones  of  thanks,  with  a  smile  of  in- 
telligence to  those  who  were  active  in  his  be- 
half; and  more  than  one  of  these  came  to  Ren- 
zo's  share,  who  in  truth  deserved  them,  for  he 
was  of  greater  service  on  that  day  to  the  grand 
chancellor,  than  the  bravest  of  his  secretaries 
could  have  been.  The  young  mountaineer, 
charmed  with  so  much  graciousness,  seemed 
to  himself  almost  to  have  formed  a  friendship 
with  Antonio  Ferrer. 

The  carriage  having  once  got  in  motion, 
proceeded  on  with  more  or  less  velocity,  and 
not  without  occasional  short  stops.  The  dis- 
tance, perhaps,  was  not  greater  than  a  stone's 
throw ;  but  in  proportion  to  the  time  employ- 
ed, it  might  have  appeared  no  inconsiderable 
journey,  to  any  one  not  governed  by  so  high 
and  benevolent  a  motive  as  Ferrer  was.  The 
people  fluctuated  before,  behind,  to  the  right 
and  to  the  left  of  the  carriage,  Uke  the  billows 

*  If  he  is  guilty.       f  Drive  on,  Peter,  if  you  can. 
JGo  on,  quick,  be  careful. 


83 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


around  a  vessel  driven  before  the  storm.  The 
uproar  was  still  louder  and  discordant,  and 
more  deafening  than  that  of  the  tempest.  Fer- 
rer, looking  first  to  one  side,  then  to  another, 
motioning  and  gesticulating  all  the  time,  en- 
deavored to  hear  something  of  what  was  said, 
that  he  might  return  such  answers  as  the  oc- 
casion required.  He  tried,  as  well  as  he  could, 
to  keep  up  a  little  conversation  with  the  party 
friendly  to  him,  but  it  was  a  difficult  thing  to 
do ;  he  had,  perhaps,  not  found  any  thing  more 
difficult  during  the  many  years  he  had  been 
grand  chancellor.  From  time  to  time,  how- 
ever, a  word  or  two,  even  a  phrase,  was  heard 
repeated  from  some  of  the  groups  on  his  way, 
but  they  were  like  the  sound  that  a  squib 
makes,  in  comparison  with  the  discharge  of 
an  entire  piece  of  fire  works. 

Endeavoring  to  answer  these  expressions  in 
a  satisfactory  way,  and  bawling  out  as  loud  as 
he  could  what  he  thought  would  please  them 
most,  or  such  as  the  immediate  necessity  of  the 
case  seemed  to  require,  he  had  to  talk  the  whole 
way. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,  bread,  bread,  abundance. 
I'lltako.  junto  prison — he  shall  be  punished — 
si  esta  culpable.  Yes,  yes,  I'll  take  the  com- 
mand— cheap  bread.  J/si  es,  that  is  it,  I  mean 
to  say.  The  King  our  master  won't  permit 
these  his  faithful  vassals  to  suffer  for  want  of 
bread.  Ox!  ox!  guardaos.  Take  care  of 
yourselves,  gentlemen.  Pedro,  adelante  con 
juicio.  Abundance  !  abundance  !  a  little  room, 
for  charity's  sake.  Bread  !  bread  !  to  prison  ! 
to  prison!  What?"  he  exclaimed  to  one  of 
the  mob  who  had  thrust  half  of  his  person  in 
at  the  carriage  door,  to  bawl  out  some  advice, 
or  request,  or  applause  or  other.  But  this  fel- 
low ere  the  what  reached  him,  was  hauled  out 
of  the  door  way  by  another  who  saw  he  was  on 
the  point  of  the  wheel  going  over  him .  Amidst 
all  these  knocks  and  thumps,  amidst  these  in- 
cessant acclamations,  amidst  an  occasional  de- 
monstration too  of  opposition,  which  broke  out 
here  and  there,  but  was  soon  put  down,  Fer- 
rer at  last  reached  the  house,  chiefly  through 
the  means  of  his  kind  auxiliaries. 

The  others,  who,  as  we  have  said,  were  there 
with  the  same  good  intentions,  had  in  the  mean 
time  done  all  they  could  to  make  a  little  space 
with  prayers,  exhortations,  threats,  treading, 
kicking  here  and  there,  and  with  that  determin- 
ed intention,  and  that  renewal  of  strength  which 
springs  from  seeing  the  accomplishment  of  our 
wishes  at  hand,  they  had  succeeded  in  divid- 
ing the  crowd  into  two  halves,  and  in  keeping 
t!u:m  back,  so  that  a  sort  of  space  was  formed 
between  the  gate  and  the  carriage.  Renzo  who 
ha.l  acted  both  as  a  guide  and  a  runner,  had 
arrived  with  the  carnage,  and  was  enabled  to 
place  himself  in  front  of  one  of  those  friendly 
ramparts,  that  served  both  as  wings  to  protect 
the  carriage,  and  as  banks  to  restrain  (he  im- 
petuosity of  the  popular  waves.  And  there 
assisting  to  keep  up  the  position  with  his  pow- 
erful shoulders,  he  was  at  the  same  time  in  a 
situation  to  see  every  thing  that  was  going  on. 


Ferrer  drew  a.  deep  sigh,  when  he  saw  a  free 
space  and  that  the  gate  was  shut.  Shut  here, 
means  not  open ;  as  to  the  rest,  the  hinges  were 
dragged  off  the  pillars,  the  door  work  made  in- 
to chips,  all  bruised,  and  forced  in  the  centre, 
so  that  through  a  broad  fissure  a  part  of  the 
bolt  could  be  perceived  twisted,  bent,  and  al- 
most pulled  out,  the  only  thing  that  held  the 
doors  together  almost.  One  of  the  friendly 
party  had  placed  himself  at  the  fissure  to  tell 
them  to  open  the  door,  another  went  to  open 
the  carriage  door ;  the  old  man  put  out  his  head, 
arose,  and  laying  his  right  hand  on  the  arm  of 
the  man,  he  put  his  foot  upon  the  step. 

The  crowd  on  both  sides  stood  up  as  much 
as  they  could  to  see.  A  thousand  faces,  a 
thousand  beards  were  in  the  air :  the  general 
curiosity  and  attention  produced  a  moment's 
silence.  Ferrer,  standing  for  an  instant  upon 
the  step,  cast  a  look  around,  saluted  the  multi- 
tude with  a  bow,  as  if  it  had  been  from  a  pul- 
pit, and  having  put  his  left  hand  on  his  breast, 
said  aloud  "  bread  and  justice  ?"  "  He  is  frank, 
straight  forward,  and  is  quite  magisterial,"  was 
said  amongst  the  acclamations,  that  were  sent 
up  to  heaven. 

In  the  mean  time  those  within  had  opened 
the  gate,  or  to  speak  more  accurately,  had  got 
the  bolt  oft',  with  the  staples  that  were  already 
hanging  down.  The  gate  was  opened  ajar,  to 
let  the  desired  guest  in,  taking  especial  care 
however  to  measure  the  aperture  to  the  precise 
space  necessary  for  his  person.  "  Quick, 
quick,"  said  he,  "  open  it  more  that  I  may  get 
in ;  and  you,  my  good  fellows,  keep  the  people 
back  ;  don't  let  them  crowd  upon  me,  for  the 
love  of  Heaven  !  keep  a  little  space  open  for  by 
and  by.  A  single  moment,  gentlemen,"  said 
he  to  those  inside,  "  gently  with  that  gate,  let 
me  get  in — oh — my  nbs — take  care  of  my  ribs, 
now  close  it ;  no,  no,  stop,  stop,  my  toga,  my 
toga ! "  And  there  it  would  have  remained 
caught  in  the  door,  if  Ferrer  very  adroitly  had 
not  drawn  the  tail  of  it  in,  which  disappeared 
like  the  tail  of  a  snake  when  it  follows  its  mas- 
ter into  his  den. 

As  soon  as  the  gate  was  closed  again  in  the 
best  manner  they  were  able  to  do,  they  imme- 
diately propped  it  up  in  the  inside,  with  posts. 
Those  on  the  outside  who  acted  as  body-guard 
to  Ferrer,  with  their  shoulders,  their  arms,  and 
with  their  cries  endeavored  to  keep  the  space 
free,  praying  to  God  in  their  hearts  that  the 
affair  might  soon  be  over. 

"  Quick,  quick,"  cried  out  the  chancellor, 
inside  under  the  portico,  to  the  servants  who 
got  around  him,  all  out  of  breath,  and  exclaim- 
ing, "Blessings  on  you,  ah,  your  excellency ! 
oh,  your  excellency  !  ah,  your  excellency !" 

"  Quick,  quick,"  repeated  Ferrer, "  where  is 
this  poor  good  man  ?"  The  vicar  was  descend- 
ing uie  stairs,  half  pulled  and  half  carried  by 
his  people,  as  white  as  bleached  linen.  When 
he  saw  the  aid  that  had  reached  him,  he  drew 
a  great  sigh,  his  pulse  returned,  life  began  to 
stir  again  within  nim,  and  the  color  to  return 
to  his  cheeks.  He  hurried  on  at  the  sight  of 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


Ferrer,  exclaiming,  "  I  am  in  the  hands  of 
God,  and  of  your  excellency,  but  how  shall  I 
get  frem  hence  ?  Every  where  there  are  men 
who  seek  to  kill  me." 

"  Venga  conmigo,  usted,*  and  he  of  good  cour- 
age ;  my  carriage  is  outside — quick,  quick." 
Talcing  him  hy  the  hand  he  drew  him  towards 
the  gate,  encouraging  him  by  the  way,  saying 
in  his  heart  at  the  same  time,  Jlqui  esta  el  bu- 
sttlis .'  Dios  nos  Valga!  f 

The  gate  being  opened,  Ferrer  went  out 
first,  the  other  followed  him,  crouching  be- 
hind, and  holding  him  fast  by  his  protecting 
toga,  as  a  child  clings  to  the  gown  of  its  mo- 
ther. Those  who  had  kept  the  space  free, 
now  held  up  their  hands,  and  their  hats,  and 
formed  a  sort  of  a  cloud,  as  it  were,  to  hide  the 
vicar  from  the  dangerous  vision  of  the  multi- 
tude, who  having  first  got  into  the  carriage, 
squatted  down  in  a  corner  of  it.  Ferrer  en- 
tered next,  and  the  door  was  closed.  The 
mob  saw,  knew,  and  divined  very  well  what 
was  going  on,  and  sent  out  a  confused  roaring 
of  applauses  and  imprecations. 

That  part  of  the  journey  which  remained  to 
be  accomplished,  might  seem  to  be  the  most 
difficult,  and  the  most  dangerous ;  but  the  pub- 
lic wish,  that  the  vicar  should  be  taken  to  pri- 
son, had  been  sufficiently  declared,  and  whilst 
the  carriage  had  stopped  at  the  gate,  many 
of  those  who  had  assisted  Ferrer  to  reach  it, 
had  contrived  to  prepare  and  preserve  a  road 
through  the  crowd,  by  which  the  carriage  might 
a  second  time  proceed,  a  little  more  expediti- 
ously,  and  without  stopping  any  more.  As  it 
proceeded  on,  the  people,  forming  the  lane,  re- 
united themselves  into  a  mass  again  behind  it. 

The  chancellor,  scarcely  seated,  stooped 
down  to  caution  the  vicar  to  keep  himself 
snug  at  the  bottom,  and,  for  the  love  of  God 
not  to  show  himself  in  the  least,  but  there  was 
no  occasion  for  such  advice.  It  was  necessa- 
ry for  him,  on  the  contrary,  to  show  himself, 
in  order  to  draw  the  attention  of  the  mob  en- 
tirely to  his  own  person.  And  during  the  whole 
way,  as  he  did  at  first,  he  made  to  his  fickle  au- 
ditors, an  harangue,  the  most  uninterrupted  as 
to  time,  as  it  was  the  most  unconnected  as  to 
sense,  that  was  ever  delivered ;  interlarding  it 
every  now  and  then,  with  a  Spanish  word  or 
two,  that  he  hastily  dropped  into  the  ear  of 
his  companion  crouched  down  near  him. 

"  Yes,  gentlemen,  bread  and  justice — to  the 
castle — to  prison — under  my  charge.  Thank 
you,  thank  you,  a  thousand  thanks !  No,  no, 
he  shall  not  escape  !  Par  ablandarlos  \\  You 
are  quite  right — we  will  examine — we  will 
see.  And  I  return  your  kindness,  gentlemen. 
A  severe  punishment.  Esto  lo  digo  por  su 
bien.§  A  reasonable  regulation,  an  honest  re- 
gulation, and  punishment  for  those  that  starve 
the  people,  Stand  on  one  side,  if  you  will  be 


so  kind.  Yes,  yes,  I  am  an  honest  man,  a 
friend  to  the  people.  He  shall  be  punished — 
it  is  true — he  is  a  scoundrel — a  villain.  Per- 
done  usted.*  He  shall  get  it — he  shall  get  it — 
si  esta  culpable.  Yes,  yes,  we'll  make  these 
bakers  mind  what  they  are  about.  God  bless 
the  king,  and  the  good  Milanese,  his  most 
faithful  vassals.  We  have  him  snug — we  have 
him  snug.  Anima,  estamos  ya  quasi  a  fue- 

They  had  in  fact  got  through  the  thickest 
part  of  the  mob,  and  were  on  the  point  of 
getting  entirely  free  of  it,  when  the  chancel- 
lor, wno  was  beginning  to  give  a  little  rest  to 
his  lungs,  perceived  succors  after  the  Pisan 
fashion,!  those  Spanish  soldiers,  who  how- 
ever towards  the  last  had  not  been  entirely 
useless;  under  the  directions,  and  with  the 
help  of  some  of  the  citizens,  they  had  assisted 
in  keeping  some  of  the  mob  quiet,  and  in  clear- 
ing the  way  for  the  chancellor's  retreat.  When 
the  carriage  reached  them,  they  drew  up  into 
a  double  line,  and  presented  arms  to  the  grand 
chancellor,  who  here  also  bowed  right  ana  left, 
and  said  to  the  officer  who  drew  near  to  sa- 
lute him,  accompanying  his  words  with  a  mo- 
tion of  his  hand,  "  JBeso  a  usted  las  manos  :§ 
words  that  the  officer  understood  in  the  sense 
that  was  meant — and  which  was — a  pretty  sort 
of  assistance  you  have  given  me.  The  officer 
saluted  him  again  by  way  of  answer,  and 
shrugged  up  his  shoulders.  It  was  a  good  op- 
portunity for  saying,  Cedant  arma  toga,  but 
Ferrer's  mind  at  that  moment  was  not  dispo- 
sed to  quotations,  and  indeed  it  would  have 
been  so  many  words  thrown  to  the  winds,  for 
the  officer  did  not  understand  Latin. 

Pedro,  whilst  he  was  driving  through  the 
two  files  of  soldiers,  with  their  muskets  so  re- 
spectfully presented,  came  to  himself  again. 
He  shook  off  the  confusion  of  mind  he  had 
been  in,  remembered  who  he  was,  and  who  he 
was  driving,  and  without  any  more  ceremoni- 
ous grimaces  to  the  mob,  now  at  a  sufficient 
distance  to  be  disregarded,  he  called  out  to  his 
horses,  gave  them  a  crack,  and  trotted  them  on 
towards  the  castle. 

"Levantese  levantese,  estamos  fuera,"\\  said 
Ferrer  to  the  vicar,  who  feeling  somewhat  re- 
assured by  the  cessation  of  the  noise,  and  by 
the  rapid  motion  of  the  carriage,  as  well  as  by 
these  words,  arose  from  his  uncomfortable  po- 
sition, and  having  recovered  himself  a  little, 
began  to  return  his  repeated  thanks  to  his  deli- 
verer. The  chancellor,  ai'ter  condoling  with 
him  respecting  the  danger  he  had  run,  and 
congratulating  him  on  his  escape,  pajsed  his 
hand  over  his  own  bald  crown,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Que  dira  de  esto  su  excellenzia  ?"1T  who  has 
trouble  enough  of  his  own,  with  that  cursed 
place  that  won't  surrender !  Que  dira  el  conde 


*  Come  along  with  me. 
f  Now  comes  the  pinch  !  God  help  us  ! 
;  I  am  saying  this  to  amuse  them. 
§  I  only  say  this  for  your  good. 
12 


*  You  must  excuse  me. 

f  Courage,  we  are  almost  out  of  danger. 

i  When  the  danger  was  past. 

.'.  I  kiss  your  hands. 

[I  Get  up,  set  up,  we  are  out  of  the  mob. 

IT  What  will  his  excellency  say  of  this  ? 


90 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


Dwjue,*  who  starts  if  a  leaf  makes  an  unusual 
noise  ?  Que  dira  el  rey  nue&tro  Senor,}  who 
in  some  way  or  other  is  sure  to  hear  some- 
thing of  such  a  tumult  as  this  ?  And  is  it  go- 
ing to  end  here  ?  Dios  lo  sabe."\ 

"  As  for  me,  I  will  have  no  more  trouble 
about  it,"  said  the  vicar,  "  I  wash  my  hands 
of  it ;  I  resign  my  post  into  the  hands  of  your 
excellency ;  I'll  go  and  live  in  some  grotto, 
upon  some  mountain — I'll  become  a  hermit, 
far,  far  from  these  abominable  brutes ." 

"  You  will  do  that  which  shall  be  most  con- 
venient par  el  servicio  de  su  Tnagestad,"§  an- 
swered the  grand  chancellor  gravely. 

"  His  majesty  does  not  want  me  to  be  mur- 
dered," replied  the  vicar;  "I'll  go  to  some 
grotto,  to  some  grotto,  far  from  them  all." 

What  became  of  this  resolution  of  the  vi- 
car, our  author  does  not  relate  ;  for,  after  ac- 
companying the  poor  man  to  the  castle,  he 
makes  no  further  mention  of  his  affairs. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE  crowd  that  remained  behind  began  to 
disperse,  and  to  move  away  by  one  or  another 
of  the  streets  to  the  right  and  to  the  left. 
Some  went  home  to  look  after  their  family 
affairs,  others  removed  from  the  place  from  a 
desire  to  roam  about  where  there  was  more 
room,  after  being  squeezed  up  so  many  hours ; 
some  went  to  seek  out  their  acquaintances, 
that  they  might  have  a  talk  over  the  great 
affairs  of  the  day.  The  same  movements  were 
going  on  at  the  other  end  of  the  street ;  where 
the  people  were  not  in  sufficient  numbers  to 
prevent  the  company  of  soldiers  from  advanc- 
ing, without  a  contest,  and  getting  near  to  the 
vicar's  house.  Close  to  it,  however,  there  stiH 
remained  the  dregs  of  all  this  fermentation ; 
a  handful  of  vagabonds,  who,  dissatisfied  that 
such  a  prodigious  hubbub  had  come  to  such  a 
tame  and  imperfect  conclusion,  were  grumb- 
ling, and  cursing,  and  counselling  with  one 
another,  with  a  view  to  mutual  encouragement 
to  commence  some  other  undertaking ;  and  as 
if  to  try,  they  still  continued  bruising  and  in- 
juring the  poor  gate,  which  had  been,  once 
more,  fastened  and  barred  as  well  they  could. 
At  the  arrival  of  the  soldiers,  the  whole  of 
them  with  common  consent,  moved  to  the  other 
side  of  the  way,  leaving  the  post  free  to  the 
soldiers,  who  took  possession  and  established 
themselves  there  to  guard  the  house  and  the 
street.  The  streets  and  the  small  squares  in 
the  neighborhood,  had  various  groups  scatter- 
ed aloi.g  them ;  where  two  or  three  stopped, 
others  to  the  number  of  twenty  collected ; 


*  What  will  thi!  Count  Duke  say? 
f  What  will  the  king  our  master,  say  ? 
t  God  alone  know*, 
o  For  his  majesty's  service. 


some  went  away,  others  came  to  them,  like 
those  fleecy  clouds  which  occasionally  move 
about  and  disseminate  themselves  in  the  azure 
sky,  after  a  storm,  and  which  induce  people 
who  look  at  them,  to  say  that  the  weather  is 
not  yet  settled.  The  conversation  carried  on 
there  was  various,  confused,  and  changing; 
some  related  with  great  earnestness  the  parti- 
cular incidents  they  had  observed,  others  what 
they  themselves  had  done :  some  expressed 
their  satisfaction  that  the  affair  had  finished  so 
well,  and  praised  the  grand  chancellor,  pre- 
dicting at  the  same  time  serious  results  to  the 
vicar ;  whilst  others,  laughing  at  the  idea,  in- 
sisted that  nothing  would  be  done  to  him,  ob- 
serving that  wolves  don't  eat  wolves  flesh :  a 
few,  in  a  more  angry  tone,  murmured  that 
things  had  not  been  done  as  they  ought  to  have 
been,  that  they  had  been  cheated,  that  it  was 
madness  to  have  made  such  a  noise,  and  then 
let  themselves  be  made  such  fools  of. 

Meantime  the  sun  had  gone  down,  and  all 
things  were  gradually  becoming  of  the  same 
color;  many  of  them  tired  with  their  day's 
work,  and  annoyed  at  talking  in  the  dark,  re- 
turned home.  Our  youth,  having  aided  in  the 
progress  of  the  carriage,  as  long  as  assistance 
was  necessary,  and  having  followed  it  through 
the  files  of  soldiers,  as  if  in  triumph,  was  glad 
when  he  saw  it  move  off,  out  of  all  danger. 
He  went  along  with  the  crowd  a  short  dis- 
tance, and  turned  into  the  first  opening,  that 
he  also  might  feel  more  at  ease.  He  had  gone 
but  a  short  distance,  when,  agitated  by  so 
many  occurrences,  so  many  recent  and  con- 
fused recollections,  he  felt  a  great  want  of 
food  and  repose,  and  began  to  look  out  on 
each  side  of  the  street  to  discover  the  sign  of 
an  inn,  since  it  was  now  too  late  to  go  to  the 
convent  of  the  capuchins.  Walking  along  and 
looking  up  as  he  went,  he  fell  in  with  a  knot 
of  people,  and  hearing  them  talk  of  plans  and 
propositions  for  the  next  day,  he  stopped. 
Having  listened  for  a  moment,  he  could  not 
resist  giving  his  own  opinion,  it  appearing  to 
him  that  one  who  had  done  so  much  as  him- 
self, might  without  presumption  say  something 
too.  And  having  been  led  to  believe  from 
what  he  had  seen  that  day,  that  at  present,  to 
carry  any  thing  into  execution,  nothing  more 
was  wanted  than  to  make  the  people  who 
roamed  about  the  streets,  approve  it;  "My 
good  gentlemen,"  he  began  in  a  tone  of  ex- 
ordium, "May  I  give  my  own  poor  opinion 
too  ?  My  poor  opinion  is  this,  that  it  is  not 
about  bread  alone  they  are  guilty  of  iniquity, 
and  since  to-day  it  has  been  cleanly  seen,  that 
if  you  make  yourselves  felt,  you  will  obtain 
justice ;  you  ought  to  go  on  henceforward  in 
the  same  way,  till  a  remedy  has  been  obtained 
for  all  your  wrongs,  that  things  may  be  regu- 
lated in  a  Christian  sort  of  way.  Is'nt  it  true, 
my  good  gentlemen,  that  there  is  a  handful  of 
tyrants,  that  break  the  whole  ten  command- 
ments, and  who  persecute  quiet  people  that 
don't  think  of  them,  to  do  them  all  sorts  of 
injuries,  and  then  are  not  they  always  in  the 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


91 


right  ?  Nay,  when  they  have  done  one  thing 
more  wicked  than  the  rest,  don't  they  walk 
with  their  heads  up,  as  if  they  ought  to  be 
praised  for  it?  I  warrant  there  are  such  in 
Milan." 

"  Too  many  of  them,"  said  a  voice. 

"  That's  what  I  say,"  answered  Renzo,  "we 
have  heard  of  them  in  the  country.  Why  the 
thing  speaks  for  itself.  Let  us  now  just  sup- 
pose, that  one  of  these  people  I  mean  to  speak 
of,  is  partly  in  the  country,  and  partly  in  Mi- 
lan ;  if  he  is  a  devil  there,  he  can't  be  an  angel 
here,  it  seems  to  me.  Now  tell  me,  my  good 
gentleman,  did  you  ever  see  one  of  these  men 
at  the  confessional.*  And  what  is  worse  (and 
this  I  can  most  certainly  say)  is,  that  there  are 
decrees  out  and  printed,  expressly  to  punish 
them ;  not  decrees  that  mean  nothing,  but  good 
ones,  and  such  as  no  better  can  be  iound.  All 
their  villanies  are  described  plainly,  just  such 
as  they  are,  and  for  every  one  its  punishment. 
And  they  say — be  they  whom  they  may,  vile 
and  plebeian,  and  I  don't  know  what.  But  if 
you  go  to  the  doctors,  and  the  scribes,  and  the 
phansees,  to  have  justice  done  you,  as  the  de- 
crees direct,  they'll  no  more  listen  to  you,  than 
the  Pope  will  let  a  rogue  talk  to  him.  It  is 
enough  to  make  an  honest  man  go  mad. 

"  ft  is  clear  then  that  the  king  and  those 
who  have  the  command,  wish  bad  men  to  be 
punished,  but  nothing  is  done,  because  they 
all  league  together.  The  league  ought  to  be 
broke,  and  we  ought  to  go  to-morrow  to  Fer- 
rer, who  is  an  honest  man,  and  a  complete 
gentleman :  we  saw  to-day  how  contented  he 
was  to  be  amongst  poor  people,  and  how  he 
tried  to  hear  every  thing  that  was  said  to  him, 
and  how  kindly  he  answered  every  body.  We 
must  go  to  Ferrer  and  tell  him  how  things  are 
jjoing  on,  arid  for  my  share  I  can  tell  him  some 
famous  affairs.  I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes 
a  decree  with  the  king's  arms  at  the  top  of  it 
as  big  as  that,  and  it  was  made  by  three  of 
of  them  that  have  the  command,  and  the  name 
of  every  one  of  them  was  at  the  bottom,  fairly 
printed,  and  one  of  them  was  Ferrer,  I  saw  it 
with  my  own  eyes.  That  decree  spoke  of 
things  just  as  they  had  happened  to  me,  and  a 
doctor  whom  I  asKcd  to  have  justice  done  to 
me,  as  those  three  gentlemen  had  directed, 
amongst  whom  Ferrer  was  there  too,  this  Sig- 
nor  doctor,  who  had  shown  me  the  decree 
himself,  which  is  the  best  of  it,  ah !  ah !  he 
listened  as  if  I  was  a  madman  talking  to  him. 
I  am  certain  that  when  that  dear  good  old  man 
will  hear  of  such  fine  doings,  and  lie  can't  hear 
of  them  all — especially  those  that  are  done  in 
the  country — that  he  won't  let  things  go  on  in 
this  way,  and  that  he  will  find  out  a  good  re- 
medy for  us.  And  then,  even  they,  if  they 
make  the  decrees,  they  must  wish  to  see  them 
obeyed,  for  it  is  a  kind  of  contempt,  and  no- 
thing more  than  an  epitaph,  to  put  their  names 
to  what  goes  for  nothing.  And  these  overbear- 
ing fjreat  men,  if  they  won't  lower  their  heads, 

*  Col  muso  alia  ferrata. 


and  will  still  go  on  like  mad,  we  are  here  to  help 
Ferrer,  as  we  did  to-day.  I  don't  say  neither 
that  he  ought  to  go  about  in  his  carriage,  to 
haul  down  stairs  all  these  villanous,  overbear- 
ing tyrants — no,  no — he  would  want  Noah's 
ark  to  do  that.  He  must  order  those  whose  bu- 
siness it  is,  not  only  in  Milan,  but  every  where, 
to  have  things  done  as  the  decrees  say,  and 
commence  proceedings  against  all  those  who 
have  committed  any  iniquities :  and  where  the 
decrees  say  they  must  go  to  prison — to  prison 
let  them  go :  and  where  they  say  to  the  gal- 
leys— let  them  go  to  the  galleys.  Then  the 
podesta's  should  be  told  to  do  things  as  they 
ought  to  be  done,  and  if  they  won't,  send  them 
about  their  business,  and  get  others  that  will ; 
and  as  I  said,  we  will  lend  them  a  hand.  The 
doctors  too,  should  be  ordered  to  listen  to  poor 
people,  and  to  speak  up  for  the  right.  Have  I 
saia  well,  gentlemen? 

Renzo  had  spoken  with  so  much  earnest- 
ness, that  from  the  beginning,  a  great  portion 
of  his  audience,  suspending  their  conversation, 
had  turned  to  hear  him,  and  at  one  moment  the 
whole  of  them  had  become  listeners.  Clamo- 
rous applauses  of  "  bravo,  to  be  sure,  he  is  in 
the  right,  it  is  too  true,"  followed  his  harangue. 
Critics,  however,  were  not  wanted.  "  It  is  a 
great  matter  to  listen  to  these  mountaineers," 
said  one,  "  they  are  all  lawyers,"  and  went  off. 
"Now,"  murmured  another,  "we  shall  have 
every  ragamuffin  turn  orator,  and  in  our  hurry 
about  putting  meat  on  the  fire,  we  shall  forget 
what  we  came  here  for,  which  was  to  get 
cheap  bread."  Renzo,  however,  only  heard 
the  compliments,  first  one  shook  hands  with 
him,  and  then  another.  "  We  shall  see  each 
other  to-morrow.  Where  ?  At  the  cathedral 
square.  Very  well — very  well — and  some- 
thing will  be  done — something  will  be  done." 

"  Will  any  one  of  you  kind  gentlemen,  tell 
me  where  there  is  an  inn,  where  a  poor  young 
country  fellow  can  get  a  mouthful  to  eat,  and 
lie  down  ?"  said  Renzo. 

"  I'll  do  that  my  good  young  man,"  answer- 
ed one,  who  had  listened  attentively  to  him, 
without  yet  saying  a  word, "  I  know  an  inn  that 
will  suit  you  exactly,  and  I  will  recommend 
you  to  the  landlord,  who  is  a  friend  of  mine, 
and  an  honest  man." 

"  Is  it  here  ?"  asked  Renzo. 

"A  little  distance  only,"  answered  the  other. 

The  assembly  dispersed,  and  Renzo,  after 
many  hearty  snakes  from  unknown  hands, 
went  off  with  his  guide,  thanking  him  for  his 
courtesy. 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  said  he,  "  one  hand 
can  wash  the  other,  and  both  together  can 
wash  the  face.  Is  it  not  our  duty  to  serve 
our  neighbor  ?"  As  they  went  on,  by  way  of 
conversation,  he  first  asked  one  and  then  an- 
other thing  of  Renzo,  "  not  that  I  have  any 
curiosity  about  your  affairs,  but  you  seemed 
tired.  What  part  of  the  country  do  you  come 
from  ?" 

"  I  come,"  answered  Renzo,  "  all  the  way 
from  Lecco." 


92 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


"  All  the  way  from  Lecco !  are  you  from 
Lecco?' 

"  From  Lecco — that  is  from  the  district." 

"  Poor  young  man !  From  what  I  have  heard 
you  say,  you  have  been  served  bad  enough  by 
them." 

"  My  dear  good  honest  man  !  it  was  neces- 
sary for  me  to  use  a  little  caution  when  I  was 
talking,  that  I  might  not  expose  my  own 
matters  in  public ;  but — some  day  it  will  be 

known,  and  then .  But  here  is  the  sign 

of  an  inn,  and  to  tell  the  truth  I  don't  want  to 
go  any  farther." 

"  No,  no,  let  us  go  where  I  tolil  you ;  we 
have  not  much  farther  to  go,"  said  his  guide, 
"  you  won't  be  so  well  off  here." 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  said  Renzo,  "  I  am  not 
one  of  your  youns*  gentlemen  accustomed  to 
delicacies,  something  substantial  to  fortify  the 
stomach  a  little,  and  a  straw  bed,  will  satisfy 
me ;  and  what  I  am  most  in  want  of  just  now,  is 
to  get  them  both  as  soon  as  I  can.  I'll  take  my 
chance."  And  he  entered  a  sort  of  door-way, 
with  the  sign  of  the  full  moon  hanging  over  it. 
"  Well,  I'll  introduce  you  here,  since  you  wish 
it,"  said  the  unknown,  and  followed  him. 

"Don't  give  yourself  any  further  trouble," 
answered  Renzo.  "  But,"  he  added,  "  do  me 
the  favor  to  come  in  and  take  a  glass  with  me." 

"  I  will  accept  your  kindness,"  answered 
he,  and  like  a  man  more  accustomed  to  the 
place,  he  preceded  Renzo  through  a  small  court- 
yard, came  to  a  door  with  a  glass  window,  lift- 
ed the  latch,  opened  it,  and  entered  with  his 
companion  into  the  kitchen. 

It  was  lighted  by  two  lamps,  hanging  from 
two  poles  fastened  to  the  beams  of  the  ceiling. 
Various  persons,  differently  occupied,  were 
seated  at  their  ease  upon  benches  placed  here 
and  there,  round  a  narrow  bad  table,  that  ex- 
tended almost  from  one  end  of  the  room  to  the 
other ;  in  some  parts  of  it  were  napkins  and 
victuals,  in  others  cards  with  their  faces  turned 
all  ways,  dice  were  scattered  about,  and  flasks 
and  glasses  were  every  where.  Upon  the 
wet  boards  of  the  table  Berlinghe,  reali,*  and 
parpagliole,\vere  circulating,  the  which,  if  they 
had  been  able  to  speak,  would  probably  have 
said — we  were  this  morning  in  the  bakers  till, 
or  in  the  pocket  of  one  of  the  lookers  on  in 
the  mob,  too  much  occupied  with  looking  after 
the  public  concerns  to  mind  his  own.  A  great 
clamor  was  going  on.  A  boy  was  continually 
running  about,  waiting  on  the  table  and  the 
men  who  were  gaming.  The  landlord  was 
seated  upon  another  bench,  in  the  chimney 
corner,  occupied,  in  appearance.with  some  fig- 
ures which  he  was  malting  in  the  ashes  with 
the  tongs,  but  in  reality,  intent  upon  every 
thing  that  was  going  on.  At  the  lifting  of  the 
latch,  he  arose,  and  met  the  new  comers.  As 
soon  as  he  perceived  the  guide — curse  on  the 
fellow  !  said  he  to  himself, — whenever  I  don't 
want  him,  he  is  sure  to  come.  Casting  a  ra- 
pid glance  at  Renzo — I  don't  know  who  you 


*  Livrea,  rials,  and  parpagliole,  a  small  coin  with  the 
figure  of  a  butterfly. 


are,  but  coming  with  such  a  hunter,  you  must 
be  either  a  hound  or  a  hare  ;  I  shall  find  out 
as  soon  as  you  begin  to  talk.  No  part  of  this 
mute  soliloquy  appeared  on  the  face  of  the 
landlord,  which  was  as  immovable  as  that  of  a 
picture,  and  was  plump  and  shining,  with  a 
thick  reddish  beard,  and  a  pair  of  fixed  clear 
eyes. 

"  What  do  you  wish  gentlemen  ?"  said  he 

"  First  of  all  a  good  hearty  flask  of  wine,' 
said  Renzo,  "and  then  a  mouthful  of  some- 
thing or  other."  Saying  this  he  sat  himself 
down  upon  a  bench  towards  the  extremity  of 
the  table,  and  sent  out  a  sonorous  ah !  that 
seemed  to  say,  now  for  a  little  comfort  after 
so  much  fatigue  and  standing  so  long.  Soon 
however  that  table  and  bench  rushed  into  his 
memory,  where  for  the  last  tune  he  had  beec 
seated  with  Lucia  and  Agnes,  and  he  sighed. 
He  however  shook  his  head  as  if  to  drive  the 
thought  away,  and  saw  the  landlord  bringing 
the  wine  His  companion  was  seated  oppo- 
site to  him.  Renzo  poured  him  out  some 
wine,  saying  "  something  to  moisten  the  lips," 
and  having  filled  the  other  glass,  swallowed  it 
down  at  a  gulp 

"What  can  you  give  me  to  eat?"  he  then 
said  to  the  landlord. 

"  Some  very  good  stewed  meat  ?"  said  he.  \ 

"  Well,  let  us  have  this  good  stew." 

"  You  shall  have  it  in  a  moment,"  said  the 
landlord.  "  Wait  upon  this  stranger,"  he  call- 
ed out  to  the  boy  and  went  to  the  fireside 

"But,"  said  he,  again  coming  to  Renzo, 
"  we  have  no  bread  at  this  time." 

"  Providence  has  provided  bread,"  said  Ren- 
zo aloud,  and  laughing,  and  drawing  from  his 
pocket  the  last  of  the  three  small  loaves  he  had 
picked  up  at  the  cross  of  Saint  Dionysius,  he 
lifted  it  up,  calling  out,  "  this  is  the  bread  of 
Providence." 

Many  of  the  company  turned  about  at  this 
exclamation,  and  seeing  that  trophy  in  the  air, 
one  of  them  called  out,  "  Cheap  bread  for 
ever!" 

"  Cheap  ?"  said  Renzo,  "gratis  ct  amore .'" 

"  Better  still !  better  still!" 

"  But,"  added  he,  "  I  do  not  wish  these 
gentlemen  to  have  any  bad  thoughts  about  it. 
I  didn't  exactly  get  this  bread  dishonestly.  I 
found  it  on  the  ground,  and  if  I  could  find  the 
owner,  I  should  like  to  give  him  what  he  ought 
to  have  without  any  delay." 

"  Bravo !  bravo !"  they  all  cried  out,  laugh- 
ing still  louder,  for  there  was  not  one  who  took 
the  words  in  the  sense  they  were  intended  to 
convey. 

"  Perhaps  you  think  I  am  joking,  but  in- 
deed I  am  not,"  said  Renzo  to  his  guide,  and 
turning  the  bread  in  his  hand,  he  added,  "  See 
how  it  has  been  knocked  about,  I  don't  know 
what  it  looks  like  ;  but  there  were  more  than 
this,  and  if  any  of  them  were  softer  than  this 
is,  they  must  cut  a  strange  figure."  Upon  this 
he  tore  several  pieces  from  trie  loaf,  devoured 
them,  and  sent  after  them  a  second  glass  of 
the  wine,  adding, "  It  won't  go  down  by  itself, 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


93 


my  throat  never  was  so  dry  before.  What  a 
shouting  we  have  had!" 

"  Prepare  a  good  bed  for  this  fine  young 
fellow,"  said  his  guide,  "he  intends  to  sleep 
here." 

"  To  sleep  here,"  said  the  landlord,  drawing 
near  to  the  table. 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Renzo,  "  a  good 
wholesome  bed,  let  the  sheets  be  clean  at  any 
rate,  for  though  I  am  but  a  poor  man,  I  am  ac- 
customed to  cleanliness." 

"  Oh !  as  to  that !"  said  the  host,  and  went 
to  a  desk  in  a  corner  of  the  kitchen,  and  re- 
turned bringing  in  his  hand  an  inkstand,  with 
a  pen  and  some  paper. 

"  What  does  this  mean  !"  saic/  Renzo,  swal- 
lowing some  of  the  dish  which  the  boy  had  just 
placed  before  him,  and  smiling,  "  Is  this  one 
of  the  clean  sheets  we  were  talking  of?" 

Without  replying,  the  landlord  laid  the  pa- 
per on  the  table,  the  inkstand  near  it,  and  pla- 
cing his  left  arm  on  the  table,  and  his  right 
elbow  on  it  likewise,  he  looked  Renzo  in  the 
face,  holding  the  pen  in  his  hand,  and  said, 
**  Do  ine  the  favor  to  tell  me  your  name,  your 
surname,  and  the  place  where  you  live  ! " 

"  What  ?"  said  Renzo,  "  why,  what  has  this 
to  do  with  the  bed  I  was  talking  about?" 

"  I  do  my  duty,"  said  the  landlord,  looking 
the  guide  steadily  in  the  face.  "  We  are 
obliged  to  give  information  of  every  one  who 
comes  to  lodge  with  us — the  name  and  sur- 
name, the  nation  he  belongs  to,  what  his  busi- 
ness is,  if  he  has  any  arms  about  him,  how  long 
he  is  going  to  remain  in  this  city — these  are 
the  very  words  of  the  decree." 

Renzo  before  he  answered,  emptied  another 
glass,  then  a  third — I  am  afraid  we  shall  not  be 
able  to  count  the  rest.  "  Ah  !  ah !"  he  then 
began,"  you  have  a  decree  !  and  as  I  am  a  doc- 
tor of  laws,  I  know  exactly  what  sort  of  esti- 
mation decrees  are  held  in." 

"I  am  in  earnest,"  said  the  host,  always 
watching  the  countenance  of  the  guide,  who 
remained  mute,  and  going  again  to  the  desk, 
he  came  back  with  a  Targe  sheet,  a  true  speci- 
men of  a  decree,  and  spread  it  completely  out 
before  the  eyes  of  Renzo. 

"Ah !  here  it  is  !"  he  called  out,  holding  up 
the  glass  which  he  had  once  more  filled,  and 
emptying  it  immediately ;  then  pointing  with 
the  other  hand  to  the  decree.  Here  is  that 
holy  leaf  out  of  the  missal.  I  am  prodigiously 

flau  to  see  it.  I  know  that  coat  of  arms,  I 
now  what  that  Arian  looking  sort  of  a  face  is, 
with  the  collar  about  its  neck."  (At  the  top 
of  the  decrees  the  arms  of  the  Governor  were 
placed  in  those  times ;  and  in  those  of  Don 
Gonzalo  Fernandez  de  Cordova,  there  was  a 
Moorish  King  with  a  chain  about  his  neck.) 

"  That  face  says,  let  those  command  that  can, 
and  let  thpse  obey  that  will.  When  that  figure 
can  send  Don  1  know  who,  to  the  galleys—- 
that's enough,  I  know.  As  another  of  these 
pious  concerns  says,  when  it  shall  order,  that 
an  honest  young  man  may  be  married  to  an 
honest  young  woman  that  is  contented  to  be  mar- 


ried to  him,  then  I'll  tell  that  face  my  name, 
I'll  give  it  a  kiss  into  the  bargain.  I  may  have 
some  good  reasons  for  not  telling  it  my  name. 
A  pretty  business  indeed  ?  a  scoundrel,  because 
he  has  got  under  him  a  pack  of  scoundrels  as 
bad  as  himself !  if  he  was  alone — to  be  sure — " 
and  here  his  gesture  supplied  the  rest  of  the 
phrase.  "  If  the  scoundrel  wanted  to  know- 
where  I  was,  just  to  do  me  some  bad  turn,  I 
want  to  know  if  that  face  would  stir  to  help 
me.  And  so  I  must  tell  what  my  business  is  ! 
something  new  to  be  sure !  suppose  now  I  am 
come  to  Milan,  to  confess  myself,  and  what 
then  ?  I  make  my  confessions  to  a  capuchin  fa- 
ther, as  we  say,  and  not  to  a  landlord."  The 
host  said  nothing  but  continued  watching  the 
guide's  face,  who  made  no  sort  of  demon- 
stration. Renzo,  sorry,  are  we  to  say  it,  kept 
swallowing  the  wine,  and  went  on.  "  I'll  give 
you  a  reason,  my  good  landlord,  that  will 
make  you  understand.  If  the  decrees  that 
speak  out  in  favor  of  good  Christians  are  worth 
nothing,  those  that  are  against  them  are  worth 
still  less.  Take  all  this  trumpery  away,  and 
bring  us  another  flask  instead,  this  one  is  gone 
— it  is  done  for ;"  saying  this  he  rapped  it 
slightly  with  his  knuckles,  and  added,  "  don't 
you  hear  how  it  is  cracked  ?" 

Renzo  had  again  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  whole  company,  and  when  he  had  done 
speaking,  a  murmur  of  general  approbation 
arose. 

"  What  must  I  do  ?"  said  the  host,  still  look- 
ing at  Renzo's  unknown  friend,  not  unknown 
however  to  him. 

"  Come,  come,"  a  number  of  voices  cried 
out,  "  that  young  countryman  is  right,  these 
are  tricks,  and  vexations,  and  plagues !  a  pack 
of  new  laws,  new  laws !" 

Amidst  these  exclamations,  the  unknown, 
looking  reproachfully  at  the  landlord  tor  the  too 
open  appeal  he  had  made  to  him,  said  "  let  him 
go  on  a  little  his  own  way,  don't  raise  any  dis- 
pute here." 

"  I  have  done  my  duty,"  said  the  landlord 
aloud,  and  added  to  himself,  I  have  got  my 
shoulders  against  the  wall  now  at  least,  and 
taking  the  decree,  and  the  writing  materials,  he 
gave  the  empty  flask  to  the  boy. 

"  Bring  another  of  the  same  kind,"  said 
Renzo,  "  he  was  a  very  honest  fellow,  and 
we'll  put  him  to  sleep  just  as  we  did  the  other, 
without  asking  him  ms  name  or  his  surname, 
or  what  his  business  is,  or  how  long  he  is  go- 
ing to  stay  in  this  city." 

"  Bring  the  same  kind,"  said  the  host  to  the 
boy,  giving  him  the  flask,  and  resuming  his 
seat  at  the  hearth. — Something  worse  than  a 
hare  ! — thought  he,  poking  about  in  the  ashes 
again.  Pretty  hands  you  have  fallen  into ! 
Jack  ass  !  If  you  want  to  drown,  drown  !  but 
the  landlord  of  the  full  moon  shall  get  into  no 
scrape  on  account  of  your  follies. 

Renzo  returned  his  thanks  to  the  guide,  and 
to  all  the  others  who  had  taken  his  part.  "  My 
good  friends !"  said  he,  "  1  now  clearly  see  that 
honest  men  do  stand  by  and  a  -pport  one  an- 


94 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


other."  Then  waving  his  open  hand  over  the 
table,  and  preparing  to  play  the  orator  again. 
"  Is  not  it  a  wonderful  thing,"  he  began,  "  that 
those  who  govern,  are  always  bringing  for- 
ward, paper,  pen,  and  ink.  They  keep  the 
pens  always  going,  What  a  strange  passion 
they  have  for  making  use  of  pens  !" 

"  I  say,  honest  stranger,  do  you  want  to 
know  the  reason  of  that?"  said  one  of  the 
gamesters  in  a  laughing  way,  who  was  winning. 

"  Let  us  hear,"  answered  Renzo. 

"  The  reason  is,"  said  he,  "  that  as  these 
gentlemen  live  upon  geese,  they  have  so  many 
pens,  that  they  must  use  them  up  some  way 
or  other." 

The  rest,  all  but  the  man  who  was  losing, 
began  to  laugh  at  this  sally. 

"Tut!"  said  Renzo,  "that  man's  a  Poet. 
You  have  got  poets  here  to  :  they  spring  up 
every  where.  I  have  a  touch  too,  and  some- 
times I  say  capital  things— but  that's  when 
all's  going  right." 

To  understand  this  silly  saying  of  poor  Ren- 
zo, it  must  be  stated,  that  amongst  the  com- 
mon people  of  Milan,  and  still  more  amongst 
those  of  the  vicinity,  the  word  poet  does  not 
signify  as  it  does  with  well  bred  men,  a  sacred 
calling,  an  inhabitant  of  Pindus,  a  nursling  of 
the  muses ;  but  means  a  crackbrained  whim- 
sical person,  who  deals  more  in  droll  and  ori- 
ginal sayings  than  in  reasonable  propositions  ; 
so  far  has  the  leveling  disposition  of  the  vul- 
gar dared  to  debase  words,  and  to  give  a 
meaning  to  them  so  extravagantly  far  from 
their  original  signification.  For  really  I  can- 
not help  asking  what  sort  of  relation  there  is 
between  poets  and  crackbrained  whimsical 
persons  ? 

"  I'll  tell  you  the  true  reason,"  added  Renzo, 
"  it  is  because  they  hold  the  pen  themselves, 
and  so  their  own  words  that  they  speak  fly 
away  and  disappear ;  but  the  words  that  a  poor 
young  fellow  speaks,  they  are  always  watch- 
ing, and  they  string  them  together  in  a  crack 
with  the  pen,  and  then  they  nail  them  down 
on  the  paper,  to  make  use  of  them  just  when 
it  suits  them.  They  have  another  trick  too, 
when  they  want  to  bring  a  poor  young  fellow 
into  trouble,  who  does  not  understand^  letters, 
but  who  has  a  little — I  know  what — "  and  to 
convey  his  meaning,  he  began  tapping  his 
forehead  with  his  forefinger,  "  and  when  they 
find  out  that  he  begins  to  find  out  what  is  go- 
ing on,  in  a  jiffy  they  begin  talking  Latin  just 
to  make  him  lose  the  thread,  and  to  bother  him 
and  throw  his  wits  into  confusion.  That's 
enough.  Some  of  these  practices  must  be 
stopped  !  Every  thing  to  day  has  been  done  in 
the  plain  way,  without  paper,  or  pens,  or  ink- 
stand ;  and  tomorrow,  if  the  people  know  how 
to  manage,  things  will  be  done  better  still, 
witKbut  hurting  a  hair  of  any  ones  head  how- 
ever, every  thing  according  to  law." 

Meantime  some  of  the  company  had  re- 
sumed their  gaming,  some  were  eating,  many 
were  talking  aloud,  some  went  away  and 
others  arrived.  The  landlord  waited  upon 


them  all,  but  these  are  matters  that  have  no- 
thing to  do  with  our  storv.  The  unknown 
Suide  wanted  also  to  go,  it  seemed  as  if  he 
ad  nothing  to  do  there,  yet  was  anxious  to 
have  a  little  more  conversation  with  Renzo  be- 
fore he  went.  Turning  towards  him,  he  be- 
gan talking  about  the  price  of  bread  again, 
and  after  some  very  trite  observations,  he 
brought  forward  a  proposition  of  his  own.  "  If 
I  had  the  command,"  said  he,  "  I  would  find 
a  way  out  to  make  things  go  right." 

"  What  would  you  do  ?"  asked  Renzo,  look- 
ing at  him  with  a  pair  of  eyes  rather  more 
lively  than  they  ought  to  have  been,  and 
screwing  up  his  mouth,  as  if  particularly  at- 
tentive. "What  would  I  do?"  said  he,  "  I 
would  have  plenty  of  bread  for  all,  as  well  for 
the  poor  as  the  rich." 

"  Ah !  that's  just  right,"  said  Renzo. 

"This  is  the  true  way.  There  should  be 
an  honest  regulation  by  which  every  one  might 
live.  And  then,  the  bread  should  be  appor- 
tioned according  to  the  number  of  persons, 
for  there  are  greedy  people  that  would  have 
every  thing  for  themselves,  getting  all  they 
can,  helping  themselves  in  such  a  way  that 
there  is  nothing  left  for  poor  people.  The 
bread,  therefore,  should  be  apportioned.  And 
how  is  it  to  be  done  ?  Why  this  way.  An 
order  should  be  gives  to  every  family,  in  pro- 
portion to  the  mouths  in  it,  to  receive  bread  at 
the  bakery.  For  instance,  I  should  have  an 
order  in  this  form. — Deliver  to  Ambrogio  Fu- 
sella,  sword  cutter,  having  a  wife  and  four 
children,  all  able  to  eat  bread — now  observe — 
deliver  him  so  much  bread,  at  such  and  such 
a  rate.  But  to  do  things  fairly,  always  in 
proportion  to  the  number  of  mouths.  To 
yourself  now,  by  way  of  supposition,  an  order 
sould  be  given  thus — what  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Lorenzo  Tramaglino,"  said  the  youth, 
who,  pleased  with  the  plan,  did  not  reflect 
that  it  was  all  to  be  earned  on  with  pen,  ink 
and  paper,  and  that  to  put  it  into  operation, 
the  first  step  was  to  know  persons  names. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  unknown,  "  but  have 
you  a  wife  and  children  ?" 

"  I  ought  to  have  had — children,  no — too 
soon  for  that — but  a  wife  to  be  sure — if  things 
had  gone  as  they  ought  to  have  gone — " 

"  Ah  !  you  are  single  !  Well  have  patience. 
You  will  then  have  a  smaller  portion. 

"  That's  quite  right ;  but  if  soon,  as  I  hope— 
and  with  uod's  assistance — well,  well — but 
suppose  I  was  to  get  a  wife  ?" 

"  Why  then  your  order  would  be  changed, 
and  the  portion  would  be  increased.  As  I 
said  before,  always  in  proportion  to  the  num- 
ber of  mouths,"  said  the  unknown,  getting  up 
from  the  bench. 

"  I  like  the  plan,"  cried  out  Renzo,  thump- 
ing his  fist  againt  the  table,  "  and  why  dont 
they  pass  a  law  of  this  kind  ?" 

"  How  should  I  know  why  they  dont  ? 
Meantime  I  wish  you  a  good  nigh*,  for  I  must 
go.  My  wife  and  chilfdren  will  have  beeu 
expecting  me  for  sometime." 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


95 


"A  little  drop  more,  another  drop,"  cried 
Renzo,  filling  in  haste  the  glass,  and  getting 
up,  caught  hold  of  the  skirts  of  his  doublet,  to 
force  him  to  set  down  again.  "  Another  drop, 
don't  use  me  so  ill." 

But  his  unknown  friend,  with  a  spring,  got 
out  of  hia  hands,  again  said — "  good  night," 
and  went  off,  leaving  Renzo  pouring  out  all 
sorts  of  reproaches,  which  reached  his  ears 
even  when  ne  was  in  the  street.  Renzo  now 
fell  heavily  on  his  bench  again,  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  the  glass  he  had  filled,  and  seeing  the 
boy  pass  by,  beckoned  to  him  with  his  finger 
to  approach ;  and  as  if  he  had  something  to 
communicate  to  him,  he  pointed  to  the  glass, 
and  in  a  slow  and  solemn  tone,  articulating  his 
words  in  a  very  peculiar  way,  said,  "  Do  you 
see  that  ?  I  filled  that  for  that  honest  man,  look 
at  it,  it's  full  to  the  brim,  you  see  how  kind  I 
was,  and  he  would'nt  drink  it.  Sometimes  ( 
people  have  queer  notions.  I  can  do  no  more,  i 
I  have  shown  what  a  good  heart  I  have  got. 
And  now — that  the  thing  is  done,  it  sha'nt  be 
said  that  nobody  shall  drink  it."  Having  said 
this,  he  took  the  glass,  and  emptied  it  at  once. 

"I  understand,"  said  the  boy  going  away. 

"  Oh,  you  understand,  do  you  ?"  replied 
Renzo,  "  then  I  must  be  right ;  when  a  man 
talks  as  sensibly  as  I  do — " 

We  stand  in  need  here  of  all  our  attach- 
ment to  truth,  to  enable  us  to  go  on  and  relate 
with  fidelity,  what  reflects  so  little  honor  upon 
a  personage,  who  may  be  esteemed,  as  it  were, 
the  hero  of  our  story.  However,  in  the  same 
spirit  of  impartiality,  we  must  also  state,  that 
this  was  the  very  first  time  that  such  an  occur- 
rence ever  happened  to  Renzo,  and  indeed  it 
was  precisely  because  he  was  a  stranger  to 
excesses  of  every  kind,  that  he  fell  so  iatally 
into  this.  The  few  glasses  which,  contrary 
to  his  custom,  he  had  swallowed  one  after  the 
other — at  first,  partly  to  quench  his  thirst,  and 
partly  on  account  of  the  excitement  he  was 
under,  which  did  not  permit  him  to  do  any 
thing  with  moderation — flew  immediately  to 
his  head,  and  produced  an  effect  which  an  or- 
dinary tippler  would  not  have  experienced. 
Upon  which  our  anonymous  writer  makes  an 
observation,  which  we  will  repeat,  let  it  be 
worth  what  it  may.  Temperate  and  credita- 
ble habits,  says  he,  produce  this  advantage, 
that  when  they  have  taken  root,  and  are  well 
established  in  a  man,  the  more  certainly,  when 
he  commits  any  excess,  is  he  sure  to  feel  the 
bad  consequences  which  result  from  it,  and 
which  are  sure  to  last  for  sometime  ;  so  that 
even  his  errors  are  a  lesson  to  him  for  the  fu- 
ture. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  when  those  first  fumes  had 
got  into  Renzo's  head,  wine  and  words  were 
constantly  kept  going  by  him,  one  up  and  the 
other  down,  without  any  rule  or  method,  and 
at  the  point  where  we  left  off  with  him,  he  was 
getting  on  as  well  as  he  was  able.  He  felt  a 
great  inclination  to  talk,  and  as  to  listeners,  or 
persons  present,  whom  he  might  choose  to 
consider  as  listeners,  they  were  not  wanting. 


I  For  a  while  his  words  came  out  pretty  fluently, 
and  with  some  tolerable  method,  but  soon  the 
task  of  making  phrases  out  of  them  became  a 
very  difficult  affair.  The  thought,  that  had 
sprung  up  fresh  and  clear  to  his  mind,  became 
ooscured  and  vanished  all  at  once  ;  his  words, 
too,  after  waiting  sometime  for  them,  were 
quite  different  from  those  he  had  intended 
them  to  be.  At  such  moments,  led  by  one  of 
those  false  instincts  which  often  produce  the 
ruin  of  men,  he  had  recourse  to  that  blessed 
friend,  the  bottle.  But  how,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, it  could  be  of  any  assistance  to 
him,  let  any  one  who  knows  declare. 

We  will,  however,  mention  a  few  of  the  sil- 
ly things  he  said  upon  this  most  unfortunate 
evening;  what  we  shall  omit,  would  be  too 
discreditable,  being  not  only  without  sense, 
but  also  without  the  least  pretension  to  any 
meaning,  which  at  least  is  an  essential  condi- 
tion of  a  printed  book. 

"  Landlord !  landlord  !"  he  resumed,  follow- 
ing him  with  his  eyes  from  the  table,  to  the 
fireside,  fixing  them  sometimes  where  he  was 
not,  and  continually  talking  amidst  the  noise  in 
the  room,  "you  landlord!  I  can't  swallow 
that ;  that  matter  of  the  name,  surname,  and 
business :  to  a  young  fellow  like  me — you  have 
not  acted  right.  What  sort  of  satisfaction — 
what  good — what  pleasure  now — to  put  a  poor 
young  fellow  down  on  that  paper.  Do  I  say 
right,  gentlemen  ?  Landlords  ought  to  be  good 
fellows.  I  say,  landlord,  listen,  I  want  to 

make  a  comparison — on  account oh  !  they 

laugh,  do  they?  Well,-!  have  drank  a  little, 
but  I  talk  good  sense.  Tell  me  now.  Who 
is  it  puts  money  in  your  pocket  ?  Is  it  poor 
young  fellows — am  I  right  ?  Do  these  great 
men  that  make  the  decrees,  ever  come  here  to 
wet  their  mouths?" 

"  They  are  all  water  drinkers,"  said  one 
near  to  Renzo. 

"They  keep  sober,"  said  a  voice,  "that 
they  may  tell  their  lies  straight." 

"Ah  !"  said  Renzo,  "that's  the  poet  that's 
talking.  Then  even  you  understand  what  I 
say.  Now  answer  me,  landlord — Ferrer,  and 
he's  the  best  of  them,  has  he  ever  been  here  to 
take  a  glass,  or  to  spend  a  farthing  ?  And  that 

assassinating  dog,  Don ?     I  say  nothing, 

my  head's  too  much  up.    Ferrer  and  father 

Chrrr ,  I  know,  they  are  two  honest  men, 

but  honest  men  are  very  scarce.  The  old  men 
are  worse  than  the  young  men,  and  the  young 
men  are  worse  still  than  the  old  men.  I  am 
glad,  however,  nobody  was  killed — let  the 
hangman  do  that  sort  of  business.  Bread — 
oh !  to  be  sure.  I  got  some  thumps,  but — I 
gave  a  few  away  too.  Make  room !  abundance 

for  ever !    That  Ferrer  though a  few  latin 

words — sies  baraos  irapolorum — it's  a  cursed 
trick !  Justice !  bread  for  ever — these  are  the 
right  sort  of  words.  We  wanted  those  fel- 
lows— when  that  infernal  ton,  ton,  ton,  broke 
out — yes,  ton,  ton,  ton.  I  would'nt  have  run 
off  if  they  had  been  with  me.  We  would  have 
fixed  the  curate — I  know  what  I'm  thinking 


96 


THE  METROPOLITAN 


about."  At  these  words  he  hung  down  his 
head,  and  remained  some  time  as  if  he  was 
absorbed  in  thought,  then  sent  forth  a  deep 
sigh,  and  raised  up  his  countenance  with  two 
eyes  swimming  in  tears,  and  an  expression  of 
fondness  so  ridiculous,  and  preposterous,  that 
it  was  well  for  her,  who  was  the  object  of  it, 
that  she  did  not  see  him.  But  the  gross  fellows 
about  him,  who  had  began  to  make  a  mockery 
of  Renzo's  eloquence,  carried  it  still  further 
when  they  saw  his  sorrowful  face.  The  near- 
est said  to  one  another,  "  look  there;"  upon 
which  they  all  turned  round,  and  poor  Renzo 
became  the  laughing  stock  of  the  whole  crew. 
Not  that  they  were  all  quite  sober,  but,  to  speak 
the  truth,  no  one  was  so  far  gone  as  him,  be- 
sides he  was  a  countryman.  They  began^first 
one,  and  then  the  other,  to  worry  him  with 
Billy  and  coarse  questions,  and  with  making 
game  of  him.  Sometimes  he  seemed  disposed 
to  resent  it,  sometimes  he  joined  in  the  laugh, 
again,  without  minding  them,  he  would  talk 
of  something  else,  sometimes  answering,  some- 
times asking  questions.  Happily  in  his  folly, 
he  had  been  instinctively  cautious  not  to  men- 
tion names,  so  that  that  which  was  most  promi- 
nently fixed  in  his  mind,  was  never  uttered. 
Even  we  should  have  been  exceedingly  griev- 
ed, if  a  name,  for  which  we  feel  some  affection 
and  reverence,  had  been  bandied  about  in  their 
vile  mouths,  and  had  become  a  sport  for  their 
infamous  tongues 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  landlord,  seeing  the  game  was  carry- 
ing on  too  far,  and  too  long,  drew  near  to  Ren- 
zo, and  requesting  the  others  in  a  gentle  way, 
to  leave  him  alone,  shook  him  by  the  arm,  and 
endeavored  to  make  him  understand,  and  to 
persuade  him  to  go  to  bed.  But  his  tongue 
was  continually  harping  upon  the  name  and 
surname,  and  the  decrees,  and  good  young 
fellows.  But  the  words  bed  and  sleep,  repeat- 
ed in  his  ear,  at  last  made  an  impression  upon 
his  mind,  they  awakened  in  it  more  distinctly 
the  necessity  of  that  which  they  signified,  and 
produced  a  moment  of  lucid  interval.  The 
small  portion  of  understanding  that  returned  to 
him,  was  sufficient  to  make  Turn  comprehend 
that  the  rest  was  wanting,  just  as  the  last  lamp 
that  remains  burning  in  an  illumination  serves 
to  show  that  all  the  others  are  gone  out.  He 
came  to  a  resolution,  and  spanning  his  open 
hands  upon  the  table,  tried  to  get  up  once  or 
twice,  sighed,  and  at  the  third  trial,  assisted 
by  the  host,  got  on  his  feet.  Having  got  him 
out  from  between  the  table  and  the  bench,  and 
taken  up  a  lamp,  the  landlord,  as  well  as  he 
could,  partly  led  him,  and  partly  dragged  him 
to  the  door  of  the  stair  case.  There  Ren/o, 
hearing  the  salutations  that  the  company  were 
tending  after  him,  turned  round  in  haste,  and 


if  his  supporter  had  not  been  on  the  alert  and 
held  him  by  the  arm,  he  would  have  got  a  se- 
vere fall ;  but  turning  round  with  the  arm  he 
had  at  liberty,  he  began  cutting  and  describing 
in  the  air,  some  salutations  by  way  of  return, 
very  much  after  the  fashion  of  Solomon's  knot. 

"  Come,  let  us  go  to  bed — to  bed,"  said  the 
landlord,  pulling  him  along,  and  shutting  the 
door  behind  them,  with  great  fatigue,  he  got 
him  up  the  narrow  wooden  stairs,  and  into  the 
bed  chamber  destined  for  him.  Renzo  was 
glad  when  he  saw  his  bed,  he  looked  in  a 
stupid  loving  manner  at  the  landlord  with  two 
twinkling  eyes  that  sometimes  sparkled  more 
than  ever,  and  sometimes  were  eclipsed  like 
fire  flies :  he  tried  to  steady  himself  upon  his 
legs,  and  extended  his  arm  towards  his  host's 
face,  as  if  he  would  caress  him,  as  a  sign  of 
friendship  and  gratitude,  but  was  unable  to  do 
it.  "Bravo,  landlord,"  he  however  got  out, 
"  I  see  now  you  are  an  honest  man,  this  is 
a  good  action  to  give  a  poor  young  fellow  a 
bed,  but  that  trick  you  wanted  to  put  on  me, 
of  the  name  and  surname,  that  was  not  like  an 
honest  man.  It  was  lucky  for  me  that  I  am 
up  to  tricks  too." 

The  landlord,  who  did  not  think  he  was  able 
to  correct  his  ideas  so  far,  and  who  from  long 
experience  knew  how  men  in  that  state  were 
apt  to  change  their  minds  on  a  sudden,  wanted 
to  take  advantage  of  that  lucid  interval  to 
make  another  attempt.  "  My  dear  son,"  said 
he,  with  a  caressing  voice  and  countenance, 
"I  did  not  do  that  to  vex  you,  nor  to  know 
your  affairs.  What  would  you  have  me  do? 
It  is  the  law,  and  even  we  are  obliged  to  obey 
it,  otherwise  we  are  the  first  to  be  punished. 
It  is  better  to  content  them,  and — after  all 
what  does  it  amount  to  ?  A  great  matter  to  be 
sure  !  To  say  a  couple  of  words.  Not  for 
them,  but  to  do  me  a  favor.  Here,  betwixt  us 
two,  we  can  manage  our  affairs  with  two  pair 
of  eyes,  no  witnesses ;  tell  me  your  name,  and 
—and  then  go  to  bed  with  your  heart  at  ease." 

"  Ah  !  you  rogue  you,"  exclaimed  Renzo, 
"  you  cheat  you  !  You  are  coming  back  upon 
me  again  with  that  old  infamous  busines* 
about  names  and  surnames,  and  business !" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  monkey,  and  go  to 
bed,"  said  the  host.  But  he  went  on  louder 
than  ever.  "I  understand,  I  am  up  to  you 
now,  you  belong  to  that  league  too.  Stop  a 
little,  stop,  I'll  fix  you."  And  placing  ma 
mouth  in  the  direction  of  the  door  of  the  stair 
case,  he  began  to  vociferate,  "  Hollo !  friends, 
the  landlord  is  one  of  the " 

"I  said  so  only  in  fun,"  said  the  host  to 
Renzo,  trying  to  get  him  back  to  the  bed, 
"  only  in  fun,  did'nt  you  see  that  I  was  only  in 
joke  ?" 

"  Ah  ?  in  fun  only,  now  you  talk  sense. 
When  you  said  it  only  in  fun — they  are  just 
things  to  make  a  joke  of."  And  down  he  fell 
on  the  bed. 

"  Come — undress  yourself,  quick,"  said  the 
landlord,  and  followed  his  advice  by  assiV.ine 
him,  of  which  there  was  great  need.  When 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


Renzo  got  his  doublet  off,  the  other  took  it, 
and  felt  in  the  pockets,  if  his  money  was  there, 
and  there  he  found  it.  Believing  that  bis  guest 
on  the  morrow  would  have  something  else  to 
lo  than  to  pay  him,  and  that  the  money  would 
probably  fall  into  hands,  whence  a  landlord 
could  not  recover  it,  he  thought  he  would  risk 
another  attempt. 

"  You  are  a  good  young  fellow,  an  honest 
man,  is'nt  it  true  ?"  said  he. 

"  A  good  young  fellow — an  honest  man — " 
replied  Renzo,  fumbling  with  his  fingers  about 
the  buttons  of  his  clothes  that  he  could  not  get 
off. 

"  Well  then,"  said  the  landlord,  "  I  wish  you 
would  pay  your  little  account,  for  tomorrow 
morning;  I  must  go  out  about  some  affairs  of 
mine " 

"  It's  quite  right,"  said  Renzo,"  I  am  up  to 
a  thing  or  two,  but  I  am  an  honest  man.  Pay 
the  account  ?  But  where  shall  I  go  to  get  the 
money  now?" 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  the  landlord,  and  putting 
all  his  experience,  all  his  patience,  and  all  his 
dexterity  in  play,  he  at  last  got  his  bill  paid, 
and  replaced  the  rest  of  the  money  in  the 
pocket. 

"  Lend  me  a  hand  to  undress  myself,  land- 
lord," said  Renzo,  "  I  know  too — I  do — that  I 
am  very  sleepy." 

The  host  lent  him  his  aid,  spread  the  cover- 
lid over  him,  and  bade  him — not  in  a  kind  tone, 
"  good  night,"  for  he  had  already  begun  to  snore- 
Then  from  that  sort  of  attraction,  which  leads 
us  to  look  at  an  object  of  dislike,  with  the  same 
earnestness  we  do  at  an  object  of  our  love,  and 
which  perhaps  resolves  itself  into  a  desire  to 
know  that  wnich  operates  powerfully  upon  our 
minds — he  stopped  a  moment  to  contemplate 
the  features  of  his  troublesome  guest,  raising 
the  lamp  over  his  face,  and  with  the  palm  of 
his  hand  making  the  light  fall  upon  it,  just  as 
Psyche  is  depicted  to  us,  when  she  is  furtively 
examining  the  form  of  her  unknown  consort. 
"  Silly,  crazy  fellow !"  said  he  in  his  mind,  to 
the  sleeping  youth,  "  he  has  really  done  his 
best  to  get  into  difficulties.  Tomorrow  thou'lt 
be  able  to  tell  me  how  thou  likest  it.  A  pack 
of  clowns,  that  want  to  go  round  the  world,  and 
that  don't  know  in  what  part  of  it  the  sun 
rises,  embroiling  themselves  and  other  people 
too." 

Having  said  or  thought  this,  he  lowered  the 
lamp,  and  left  the  room,  locking  the  door  on 
the  outside.  Upon  the  landing  of  the  stair- 
case, he  called  to  his  wife,  charging  her  to 
leave  the  children  to  the  care  of  a  young  girl 
they  had,  and  to  go  down  to  the  kitchen  to  take 
care  of  matters  in  his  place.  "  I  am  obliged 
to  go  out,  about  a  stranger,  whom  my  bad  luck 
has  brought  here,"  said  he,  and  then  told  her 
this  disagreeable  occurrence,  adding,  "  keep 
an  eye  every  where,  and  above  all  things  pru- 
dence upon  such  a  cursed  day  as  this.  There 
is  a  pack  of  dissipated  fellows  down  stairs,  that 
what  with  drinking,  and  what  they  have  by 
nature,  are  not  very  nice  about  the  words  they 
13 


use.  But  enough,  if  any  one  of  them  is  rash 

enough "  "  Oh  !  I  am  not  a  child,  and  I 

know  too  what  is  proper  to  do.  I  think  till 
now,  no  one  can  say " 

"  Well,  well,  and  mind  that  they  pay  ;  and 
whatever  they  say  about  the  vicar  of  provi- 
sions, and  the  governor,  and  Ferrer,  and  the 
decurions,  and  the  cavaliers,  and  Spain  and 
France  and  all  such  nonsense,  seem  as  if  you 
did  not  understand  them,  because  if  you  con- 
tradict them,  you  will  have  a  row  directly,  and 
if  you  say  they  are  right,  you'll  have  a  worse 
by  and  by ;  and  I  need  not  tell  thee  that  some- 
times those  that  say  the  grossest  things — 
enough  ;  when  certain  things  are  uttered,  you 
know  its  only  just  turning  your  head,  and  say- 
ing— coming — as  if  some  one  was  calling  vou 
in  a  different  place.  I'll  endeavor  to  get  back 
as  soon  as  I  can." 

Having  said  so  much,  he  went  down  into  the 
kitchen  with  her,  just  gave  a  look  to  see  if 
there  was  any  novelty  going  on,  took  his  hat 
and  cloak  down  from  a  peg,  a  stick  from  a 
corner,  repeated  some  of  the  instructions  he 
had  given  to  his  wife,  and  went  out.  But 
even  whilst  he  was  doing  this,  he  took  up 
again  the  thread  of  the  apostrophe  he  had  be- 
gun at  the  bed  of  poor  Renzo,  and  went  on 
with  it  as  he  walked  along  the  street. 

— That  thick  headed  mountaineer  of  a  fel- 
low— for  though  Renzo  wanted  to  conceal  who 
he  was,  yet  every  thing  about  him,  his  phrase- 
ology, his  pronunciation,  his  aspect,  his  man- 
ners, announced  him  to  be  from  the  mountains. 
— When,  on  such  a  day  as  this,  by  using  poli- 
cy and  judgment,  I  had  come  off  so  cleverly, 
that  he  must  come  at  the  end  of  it  to  spoil  the 
grapes  in  the  paniers.  Was  there  no  other  inn 
in  Milan,  that  thou  must  come  precisely  to 
mine  ?  If  thou  had'st  at  least  come  alone,  I 
could  have  shut  my  eyes  for  this  evening,  and 
tomorrow  I  could  have  told  thee  so.  But  no,  in- 
deed, thou  must  bring  somebody  else  with  thee, 
and  to  complete  the  matter,  that  somebody  must 
be  the  bargello.* 

At  every  step,  the  host  met  in  his  way 
either  persons  alone,  or  in  pairs  or  groups,  go- 
ing along  whispering.  At  this  point  of 
his  mute  soliloquy,  he  saw  a  patrole  of  sol- 
diers coming,  and  standing  aside,  he  looked  at 
them  as  they  went  from  the  corner  of  his  eye, 
and  continued  to  himself; — there  the  Sjcourgera 
go !  and  that  Jack  ass  because  he  saw  a  few 
people  getting  up  a  little  uproar,  must  take  it 
into  his  head  the  world  was  going  to  be  turn- 
ed inside  out.  Thou  hast  laid  a  fine  founda- 
tion for  thy  own  ruin,  and  was't  about  to  ruin 
me  too,  which  is  hardly  fair.  I  did  all  I  could 
to  save  thee,  and  by  way  of  return,  thou  want- 
eds't  but  a  little  to  make  a  row  even  at  my 
own  house.  Thou  must  now  get  out  of  thy 
own  scrape,  I  shall  take  care  of  myself:  as 
if  I  wanted  to  know  thy  name  for  my  own  cu- 
riosity !  of  what  consequence  is  it  to  me 
whether  thy  name  is  Taddeo,  or  Bartolommeo  ? 


'  The  police  officer. 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


A  pretty  idea  that  I  am  fond  of  using  pens ! 
but  thou  art  not  alone  in  the  world  in  wanting 
to  have  things  thy  own  way.  To  be  sure  I 
know  there  are  decrees  that  are  worth  nothing ; 
a  fine  piece  of  information  for  a  mountaineer 
to  come  and  give  us.  But  thou  dost  not  know, 
thou,  that  decrees  against  landlords  are  good 
for  something?  and  thou  pretendest  to  go 
about  the  world,  and  to  lecture,  and  dost  not 
know  that  when  a  man  will  have  his  own  way, 
and  does  not  care  a  fig  about  the  decrees,  the 
first  thing  is  not  to  say  any  ill  of  them  in  pub- 
lic. And  for  a  poor  landlord  who  would  be  of 
the  same  way  of  thinking,  and  who  would'nt 
ask  the  name  of  any  man  who  would  give  him 
his  custom,  dost  thou  know,  thou  dolt,  what 
fine  things  there  are  in  reserve  ? — under  a  pen- 
alty from  any  one  soever  of  the  said  landlords, 
tavern  keepers  and  others,  as  before  stated,  of 
three  hundred  crowns. — There  they  are,  all 
together,  three  hundred  crowns ;  and  now  see 
wnat  a  pretty  way  of  spending  them — two- 
thirds  of  them  to  be  applied  to  the  royal  cham- 
ber, and  the  other  third  to  the  informer — vast- 
ly obliging,  indeed — and  in  case  of  inability, 
five  years  in  the  galleys,  or  a  greater  punish- 
ment, pecuniary  or  corporal,  at  the  pleasure  of 
his  excellency. — Prodigiously  grateful  for  his 
favors ! — 

At  these  words,  the  landlord  put  his  foot 
on  the  threshold  of  the  palace  of  the  capitano 
di  justizia.  There,  as  at  all  the  government 
offices,  there  was  a  great  stir ;  in  every  direc- 
tion they  were  issuing  such  orders  as  seem- 
ed suited  for  the  approaching  day,  to  remove 
all  pretexts  that  might  serve  to  encourage 
those  who  were  seeking  to  get  up  a  new  tu- 
mult, and  to  preserve  power  in  the  hands  of 
those  accustomed  to  use  it.  The  number  of 
soldiers  was  increased  about  the  vicar's  house, 
the  entrances  to  the  streets  were  blocked  up 
with  beams,  and  entrenched  with  carts.  The 
bakers  were  ordered  to  continue  making  bread 
without  intermission,  and  expresses  were  des- 
patched to  the  neighboring  districts,  with  or- 
ders to  send  grain  into  the  city.  At  every  ba- 
kery a  deputation  of  noblemen  was  directed  to 
go  early  in  the  morning,  to  superintend  the  dis- 
tribution, and  to  restrain  the  unruly  by  the 
authority  of  their  presence,  and  by  fair  words. 
But  in  order  to  give — to  use  a  common  expres- 
sion, one  stroke  at  the  hoop  and  another  at  the 
butt,  and  to  make  gentle  methods  more  effica- 
cious by  the  aid  of  a  little  terror,  means  were 
considered  also  how  to  lay  hold  of  some  of  the 
seditious,  and  this  was  the  affair  of  the  capi- 
tano di  justizia,  who,  with  one  of  his  organs 
bathed  with  vulnerary  water,  was  in  such  a 
humor  with  insurgents  and  insurrections,  as 
may  be  well  conjectured.  His  blood-hounds 
were  in  the  field  from  the  beginning  of  the  up- 
roar, and  the  pretended  Ambrogio  Fusella, 
was,  as  the  landlord  has  said,  a  bargello  in 
disguise,  sent  amongst  them  to  detect  some  one 
in  the  tact,  so  as  to  know  and  keep  him  in  mind, 
with  a  view  to  pounce  upon  him  at  night  when 
every  thing  should  be  still,  or  the  next  day. 


Having  heard  a  few  words  of  Renzo's  ha- 
rangue, he  made  his  observations  upon  him, 
believing  that  he  was  exactly  such  a  person  as 
he  was  in  search  of.  Finding,  however,  that 
he  was  quite  a  stranger  to  the  city,  he  had  at- 
tempted the  master  stroke  of  leading  him 
whilst  he  was  yet  excited  to  the  prison,  as  the 
best  inn  in  the  town,  but  he  failed  in  this,  as 
we  have  seen.  He  was  able,  however,  to  carry 
away  a  good  account  of  his  name,  surname  and 
country,  besides  a  thousand  conjectural  things, 
so  that  when  the  landlord  arrived  to  give  in- 
formation of  what  he  knew  about  Renzo,  they 
already  knew  more  than  himself.  He  entered 
the  usual  room,  and  made  his  deposition,  how 
a  stranger  had  come  to  lodge  at  his  house,  who 
had  refused  to  tell  his  name. 

"  You  have  done  your  duty  in  giving  us  this1 
information,"  said  a  criminal  notary  laying 
his  pen  down,  "  but  we  already  knew  it." 

"  This  is  a  little  mysterious,"  thought  he, 
"  this  is  an  extraordinary  ability  they  have." 

"We  also  are  acquainted,"  continued  the 
notary,  "  with  his  precious  name  he  is  so  chary 
about." 

"  The  devil !  his  name  too,  how  have  they 
learnt  that  ?"  thought  he. 

"  But  you,"  resumed  the  other  with  a  se- 
rious aspect,  "  you  do  not  inform  us  of  every 
thing  you  know." 

"What  else  have  I  got  to  tell  you  ?" 

"  Ah  !  ah !  we  are  very  well  acquainted  with 
the  fact  that  this  man  took  to  your  house  a 
quantity  of  bread  he  had  stolen,  plundered, 
and  acquired  by  theft  and  sedition." 

"  A  man  comes  to  my  house  with  a  small 
loaf  in  his  pocket,  and  I  am  bound  to  know 
how  he  got  it !  If  I  was  saying  now  the  very 
last  words  before  I  die,  I  would  swear  I  never 
saw  more  than  one  small  loaf." 

"  Yes,  yes,  always  excusing,  always  defend- 
ing ;  one  who  listens  to  you,  must  believe  they 
are  all  honest  men.  How  can  you  prove  he 
got  that  loaf  honestly  " 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  proving  any  thine 
of  the  kind  ?  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  I 
am  nothing  but  a  landlord." 

"  You  can't,  however,  deny  that  this  adven- 
turer of  yours,  had  the  temerity  to  utter  inju- 
rious things  against  the  decrees,  and  to  offer 
indecent  insults  to  the  arms  of  his  Excellen- 
cy." 

"Do  me  the  favor,  your  worship,  to  say 
how  he  comes  to  be  my  adventurer,  when  this 
is  the  first  time  I  have  seen  him  ?  It  is  the 
devil  himself,  with  all  respect,  that  sent  him 
to  iny  house,  and  if  I  had  known  him,  your 
worship  understands  very  well  there  would 
have  been  no  necessity  of  my  asking  him  his 
name." 

"Notwithstanding,  in  your  house,  and  in 
your  presence,  words  of  fire  have  been  utter- 
ed :  rash  words,  seditious  propositions,  mur- 
murs, complaints,  clamors." 

"  How  can  your  worship  suppose  that  I  can 
pay  any  attention  to  the  extravagant  things 
that  a  pack  of  mad  people  say,  that  are  ail 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSL 


99 


at  once.    I  am  a  poor  man,  and  am 
.  to  take  care  of  my  own  affairs.    And 


talkin, 

oblige^ 

your  worship  knows  that  those  who  are  pretty 

free  with  their  tongues,  are  pretty  free  also 

with  their  hands,  especially  when  they  are  so 

many  together." 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  are  for  letting  them  go  on, 
and  talk  and  act}  tomorrow,  tomorrow  we 
shall  see  if  the  frolic  has  got  out  of  their 
heads.  What  do  you  suppose  ?" 

"  I  suppose  nothing." 

"  That  the  rabble  has  got  uppermost  in  Mi- 
lan!" 

"  Oh !  that  is  precisely  an  idea — " 

"  You  will  see,  you  will  see." 

"  I  comprehend  perfectly  well ;  the  king 
will  always  be  king ;  he  that  shall  have  mu- 
tinied, will  have  mutinied ;  what  should  a  poor 
father  of  a  family  want  to  mutiny  for ;  you 
gentlemen,  have  force  on  your  side,  and  it  be- 
longs to  you  to  settle  the  matter." 

"  Have  you  a  great  many  people  in  your 
house  ?" 

"  A  world  of  them," 

"  And  that  adventurer  of  yours,  what  is  he 
doing  ?  Is  he  still  making  an  uproar,  rousing 
the  people,  contriving  sedition  ?" 

"That  stranger,  your  worship  means,  he  is 
gone  to  bed." 

"  So  you  have  a  great  many  people  in  the 
house — that's  sufficient.  Tak«  care  you  don't 
let  him  leave  you." 

"  So  I  have  to  play  the  constable,  eh  ?" 
thought  the  landlord,  without  answering  yes, 
or  no. 

"  Go  home,  and  be  prudent,"  resumed  the 
notary. 

"I  have  always  acted  prudently.  Your 
worship  can  say  whether  I  nave  ever  stood  in 
the  way  of  justice." 

"  Well,  well !  and  don't  you  believe  that 
the  law  has  iost  its  power." 

"  I  ?  for  the  love  of  Heaven !  I  don't  believe 
any  thing,  I  mind  nothing  but  my  business  as 
a  landlord." 

"  The  old  song,  you  have  always  that  in 
your  mouth." 

"  What  else  would  your  worship  have  me 
say  ?  truth  is  but  one  and  the  same  thing." 

"'  That's  enough  !  at  present  we  will  be  con- 
tent with  what  you  have  deposed :  if  it  should 
be  necessary,  you  will  give  as  more  minute  in- 
formation of  what  it  may  be  necessary  to  ask 
you.77 

"What  information  have  I  got  to  give  ?  I 
know  nothing ;  I  have  scarce  nead  enough  to 
attend  to  eay  own  affairs." 

"  Take  care  you  don't  let  him  go  away." 

"  I  hope  the  illustrious  signer  capitano  will 
be  told  that  I  came  immediately  to  discharge 
my  duty.  I  kiss  your  worship's  hands." 

When  day  broke,  Renzo  was  still  snoring : 
it  was  seven  o'clock,  and  the  poor  fellow  was 
still  in  a  deep  sleep,  when  he  was  roused  by 
two  rough  snakes  by  his  arms,  and  a  voice 
•which  from  the  foot  of  the  bed,  called  out, 
«'  Lorenzo  Tramaglino."  He  shook  himself, 


stretched  out  his  arms,  opened  his  eyes  with 
difficulty,  and  saw  standing  erect  before  him 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  a  man  dressed  in  black, 
and  two  others  armed,  one  to  the  right  and  the 
other  to  the  left  of  the  bolster.  What  with 
surprize,  his  being  but  half  awake,  and  the 
headache  he  had  from  the  wine,  he  remained 
a  moment  as  if  he  was  under  enchantment; 
and  believing  he  was  a  sleep,  and  not  liking 
his  dream,  he  shook  himself  that  he  might  get 
completely  awake. 

"  Have  you  heard,  Lorenzo  Tramaglino  ?" 
said  the  man  with  the  black  cloak,  the  notary 
of  the  preceding  evening — "  rouse  yourself — 
get  up  and  come  with  us." 

"  Lorenzo  Tramaglino  !"  said  Renzo,  "  What 
does  this  mean  ?  What  do  you  want  of  me  ? 
Who  has  told  you  my  name .'" 

*'  None  of  your  chattering,  and  get  up  di- 
rectly," said  one  the  birri*,  who  stood  by  him, 
and  who  took  him  by  the  arm  again. 

•"  Hollo !  What  overbearing  ways  are  these  ?" 
cried  out  Renzo,  drawing  his  arm  away. 
"  Landlord !  landlord  I" 

"  Shall  we  take  him  away  in  his  shirt  ?" 
said  one  of  them  to  the  notary. 

"Do  you  hear?"  said  he  to  Renzo,  "You 
will  be  served  in  this  way,  if  you  do  not  get 
up  directly,  and  come  alongwith  us." 

"  And  what  for  ?"  asked  Renzo. 

"  You  will  learn  what  for,  from  the  capita- 
no  di  justizia." 

"  Me !  I  am  an  honest  man,  I  have  done 
nothing,  and  I  am  astonished — " 

"All  the  better  for  you — all  the  better  for 
you ;  every  thing  will  be  despatched  in  a  couple 
of  words ;  and  you  can  go  about  your  busi- 
ness,1' 

"  Let  me  go  now,"  said  Renzo,  "  I  have  no- 
thing to  do  with  jastice." 

"  Come,  let  us  put  an  end  to  this !"  said  one 
of  the  birri. 

"Shall  we  carry  him  ?'"  said  the  other, 

"Lorenzo  Tramaglino!"  said  the  notary. 

"  How  does  your  worship  know  my  name  ?" 

"  Do  your  duty,"  said  the  notary  to  the  birri, 
who  immediately  laid  hold  of  Renzo  to  drag 
him  out  of  the  bed. 

"Hollo  !  don't  treat  an  honest  man  in  Una 
way,  what — !  I  know  how  to  dress  myself." 

"  Then  put  your  clothes  on,  and  get  up  di- 
rectly," said  the  notary. 

"  I  am  getting  up,"  answered  Renzo,  and 
began  to  collect  nis  clothes  that  were  thrown 
about  upon  the  bed,  like  the  fragments  from  a 
shipwreck  on  the  shore.  And  putting  them 
on,  he  continued  saying,  "  but  I  won't  go  to 
(he  capitano  di  justizia !  I  have  nothing  to  do 
with  him !  If  this  affront  is  to  be  put  so  un- 
justly upon  me,  I  will  be  taken  to  Ferrer.  1 
know  him,  I  know  he  is  an  honest  man,  and 
he  is  under  obligations  to  me." 

"  Yes,  yes,  my  son,  you  shall  be  taken  to 
Ferrer,"  answered  the  notary.  Under  other 
circumstances  he  would  have  heartily  laughed 


*  Police. 


100 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


at  such  a  proposition,  but  this  was  not  a  mo- 
ment to  laugh.  In  coming  to  the  inn,  he  had 
perceived  in  the  streets  a  movement,  not  easy 
to  define  whether  it  was  the  remains  of  a  tu- 
mult not  quite  appeased,  or  the  beginning  of 
a  new  one  :  a  turning  out  of  the  burghers,  an 
assembling  together,  a  getting  together  into 
knots  of  the  people.  And  now,  without  show- 
ing it,  or  trying  not  to  show  it,  he  kept  his 
ears  on  the  alert,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if 
the  noise  was  increasing.  He  was  anxious 
therefore  to  use  despatch,  but  was  desirous 
also  of  getting  Renzo  away  by  kindness  and 
without  resistance ;  since,  if  war  was  declared 
against  him,  he  was  by  no  means  certain  that 
his  party  when  it  got  into  the  street,  would 
be  three  to  one,  as  it  was  now.  He  therefore 
made  signs  to  the  birri  to  be  patient,  and 
not  to  exasperate  the  youth,  whom  he  endea- 
vored to  pacify  with  kind  words.  Renzo  in 
the  meantime,  whilst  he  was  getting  on  his 
clothes,  bringing  to  his  mind  as  well  as  he 
could,  the  contused  remembrances  of  the 
preceding  day,  came  pretty  nearly  to  the  con- 
clusion, that  the  decrees,  and  the  name  and 
surname,  must  necessarily  be  the  cause  of  all 
this  trouble,  but  how  the  deuce  could  that  man 
know  his  name  ?  And  what  the  deuce,  too, 
had  happened  during  that  night,  that  justice 
had  become  so  confident  again,  that  she  dared 
to  lay  her  hands  upon  one  of  the  good  young 
fellows,  that  the  day  before,  had  such  a  pow- 
erful vote  in  the  chapter,  and  who  could  not  all 
be  yet  fast  a  sleep,  since  he  could  himself  per- 
ceive that  the  rumor  in  the  street  kept  increas- 
ing. And  upon  looking  into  the  notary's  face, 
he  saw  manifest  signs  of  an  agitation  he  in  vain 
endeavored  to  conceal.  Therefore,  to  clear  up 
his  conjectures,  and  to  find  something  or  other 
out,  to  gain  time,  and  also  to  execute  a  plan  he 
was  forming,  he  said,  "  I  comprehend  very 
well  the  cause  of  all  this,  its  on  account  of  the 
name  and  surname ;  last  night  it  is  true,  I  was 
rather  merry,  these  landlords  have  sometimes 
wines  that  are  a  little  treacherous,  and  every 
body  knows  that  when  wine  has  gone  to  the 
place  where  words  come  from,  it  always 
wants  to  talk  in  its  turn.  But  if  it  is  nothing 
but  that,  I  am  ready  now  to  give  you  every 
satisfaction  about  it.  And  then,  you  know 
my  name  now;  who  the  deuce  told  it  to 
you  ? " 

"  Bravo,  my  son,  bravo,"  answered  the  no- 
tary in  a  friendly  tone.  "  I  see  that  you  have 
got  some  judgment,  and  believe  me  who  be- 
long to  that  trade,  that  you  have  more  discern- 
ment than  the  rest,  h  is  the  best  way  to  get 
the  atfiiir  settled.  With  the  good  dispositions 
you  have,  in  two  words  you  will  be  despatch- 
ed and  set  at  liberty.  But  you  must  under- 
stand, my  son,  that  my  hands  are  tied — I  can't 
let  you  go  now  if  I  would.  Come,  make  haste, 
and  keep  up  your  spirits ;  when  they  see  who 
you  are — and  then  1  will  tell  them — leave  it 
to  me — enough — make  haste,  my  son." 

"Ah!  your  worship  can't — I  understand," 
•aad  Renzo,  and  went  on  dressing  himself, 


pushing  away  the  birri  when  they  wanted  to 
lay  hands  on  him  to  hurry  him. 

"  Shall  we  go  by  the  cathedral  square  ?"  he 
asked  of  the  notary. 

"  Any  road  you  like,  the  best  way  is  the 
shortest,  that  you  may  the  sooner  be  set  at 
liberty,"  answered  he,  vexed  at  heart  that  he 
could  not  follow  up  the  mysterious  inquiry  of 
Renzo,  that  was  such  a  fertile  theme  for  inter- 
rogatories. I  was  born  unfortunate— thought 
he — here  is  a  man  comes  into  my  hands,  who, 
it  is  evident,  wants  nothing  better  than  to  tell 
every  thing;  and  if  I  now  had  but  a  moment, 
I  could  extra  fonnam,  and  quite  academically, 
in  a  sort  of  friendly  dialogue,  get  every  thing 
out  of  him  without  giving  him  a  taste  of  the 
rack ;  a  man  that  I  could  take  to  prison  com- 
pletely examined,  without  his  being  aware  of 
it ;  and  that  such  a  fellow  should  come  at  such 
a  critical  conjuncture  as  this.  It  can't  be  help- 
ed— thought  he — raising  up  his  ears,  and  bend- 
ing his  head  a  little  backwards — there  is  no 
remedy — it  may  turn  out  to  be  a  worse  day 
than  yesterday.  What  made  him  think  so, 
was  an  extraordinary  noise  that  was  heard 
from  the  street,  so  that  he  could  not  restrain, 
himself  from  opening  the  window  and  looking 
out.  He  perceived  it  came  from  a  crowd  of 
citizens,  who,  at  the  intimation  from  a  patrole 
of  soldiers  to  disperse,  had  at  first  given  inso- 
lent answers,  and  finally  had  separated  mur- 
muring and  discontented ;  and  what  the  nota- 
ry considered  as  a  very  deadly  sign,  was,  that 
the  soldiers  used  great  gentleness.  Shutting 
the  window,  he  reflected  for  a  moment  whether 
he  should  finish  his  undertaking,  or  leaving 
Renzo  in  the  hands  of  the  two  birri,  should 
run  to  the  capitano  di  justizia,  to  apprize  him 
of  this  emergency.  But — he  soon  thought — I 
shall  be  told  that  I  am  a  poor  weak  fool,  and 
that  I  ought  to  have  executed  my  orders.  We 
have  got  up  a  ball,  and  now  we  must  dance. 
Curse  on  this  pressure,  and  the  devil  take  the 
trade! 

Renzo  was  on  his  feet,  and  the  two  satel- 
lites, one  on  one  side  of  him,  the  other  on  the 
other,  whilst  the  notary  made  signs  to  them 
not  to  be  too  rough,  and  said  to  nim,  "  Well 
done,  my  son,  come  make  haste." 

Renzo  too,  heard,  saw,  and  was  thinking 
he  had  now  got  all  his  clothes  on,  except  his 
doublet,  which  he  had  in  one  hand,  whilst  he 
was  feeling  in  the  pocket  with  the  other. 
"  Ay,  ay ! "  said  he,  looking  significantly  at 
the  notary,  "  there  was  some  money  here  and 
a  letter,  good  sir!" 

"  Every  thing  shall  be  punctually  given 
back  to  you,"  said  the  notary,  "  as  soon  as  the 
formalities  are  gone  througn — let  us  begone, 
let  us  go." 

"  No,  no,  no,"  said  Renzo,  shaking  his  head, 
"  this  won't  satisfy  me — I  will  have  my  things, 
my  good  sir.  I  will  give  you  an  account  of  my 
actions,  but  I  will  have  my  property." 

"  I  will  prove  to  you  that  I  tnist  you — here, 
and  be  quick,"  said  the  notary,  taking  from  his 
breast,  and  giving  Renzo,  with  a  sigh,  the 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


101 


things  he  had  missed.  Renzo  placed  them  in 
his  pocket,  and  murmured  to  himself,  "  hands 
off:  you  are  so  familiar  it  seems  with  thieves, 
that  you  have  learnt  a  little  of  their  trade." 
The  birri,  at  this,  were  becoming  more  and 
more  impatient,  but  the  notary  winked  at  them 
to  keep  still,  saying  at  the  same  time  to  him- 
self, "  When  once  I  get  you  (I  know  where,) 
you  shall  pay  for  this  with  usury,  you  shall 
pay  well  for  this." 

Whilst  Renzo  put  his  doublet  on,  and  was 
taking  his  hat,  the  notary  made  a  sign  to  one 
of  the  birri  to  precede  them  down  stairs,  the 
other  he  placed  behind  the  prisoner,  and  him- 
self brought  up  the  rear.  When  they  got  into 
the  kitchen,  whilst  Renzo  was  saying,  "And 
this  blessed  landlord,  where  has  he  hid  him- 
self?" the  notary  made  a  sign  to  the  two  birri, 
who,  one  of  them  seizing  one  hand,  and  the 
other  the  other,  in  great  haste  slipped  over  the 
wrists  of  the  young  man,  a  couple  of  little 
machines,  which,  by  a  hypocritical  figure,  are 
called  ruffles.  These  consisted  (and  sorry  we 
are  to  descend  to  particulars  unworthy  of  his- 
torical gravity,  but  perspicuity  requires  it)  in 
a  small  whipcord  a  little  longer  than  the  cir- 
cumference of  an  ordinary  man's  wrist,  at 
each  end  of  which  was  a  short  rounded  piece 
of  stick.  The  whipcord  went  round  the  pri- 
soner's wrist,  and  the  sticks  were  drawn  be- 
tween the  middle  and  annular  fingers  of  the 
man  who  had  him  in  custody,  so  that  this  last, 
when  he  shut  his  fist,  and  twisted  the  whip- 
cord, could  tighten  or  slack  it  at  his  pleasure : 
in  this  way  he  could  not  only  secure  his  pri- 
soner, but  give  him,  if  he  resisted,  a  taste  of 
martyrdom,  the  which  that  it  might  be  more 
exquisite,  the  whipcord  had  a  great  many  knots 
on  it. 

Renzo  struggled    and  cried  out,  "  What 

treachery  is  this  ?  to  an  honest  man !"  But 

the  notary,  who  for  all  sort  of  bitter  things  had 
words  of  honey,  said,  "  Have  patience,  they 
are  doing  their  duty.  What  would  you  have  ? 
These  are  nothing  but  formalities,  we  can't 
treat  people  exacuy  as  we  should  like  to  do. 
If  we  did  not  do  what  we  are  ordered  to  do 
we  should  be  in  a  pretty  situation,  a  great  deal 
worse  than  you;  nave  patience !"  Whilst  he 
was  speaking,  the  two  operators  gave  the 
ruffles  a  twist.  Renzo  became  as  quiet  as  a 
young  horse,  when  he  feels  the  snaffle  for  the 
first  time,  and  called  out  "  Patience !" 

"  Bravo,  my  sou !"  said  the  notary,  this  is  the 
true  way  to  get  through  this  affair  cleverly. 
What's  to  be  done  ?  This  annoys  you ;  I  can 
comprehend  that,  but  behave  well,  and  in  a 
moment  you  will  be  out  of  this  scrape.  And, 
since  I  see  you  so  well  disposed,  and  feeling 
an  inclination  to  help  you,  I  will  also  give  you 
another  piece  of  advice,  quite  for  your  good. 
Trust  me,  who  am  accustomed  to  these  things ; 
walk  straight  forward,  without  looking  round, 
without  making  people  look  at  you  ;  if  no  one 
looks  at  you,  nobody  will  know  what  has  hap- 
pened, and  you  will  save  your  honor.  In  an 
hour  from  this  you  will  be  at  liberty,  there  is 


so  much  to  do  that  even  they  will  make  haste 
to  despatch  you,  and  then  I  will  put  in  a  word. 
You  can  then  go  about  your  affairs,  and  no- 
body will  know  you  have  been  in  the  hands 
of  justice.  "  And  you,"  he  continued,  turning 
to  the  two  birri  with  a  severe  countenance, 
"you,  take  care  you  do  not  hurt  him,  I  take 
him  under  my  protection  ;  you  must  do  your 
duty  it  is  true,  but  remember  this  is  an  honest 
man,  a  civil  youth,  who  in  a  short  time  will  be 
at  liberty,  and  that  his  honor  is  of  consequence 
to  him.  Let  nothing  appear,  but  go  along  just 
as  if  you  were  three  honest  men  taking  a 
walk."  And  with  an  imperative  tone,  and  a 
frowning  look,  he  concluded, "  Do  you  under- 
stand me  .'"  Then  turning  to  Renzo  with  a  face 
all  gentleness,  and  made  up  into  smiles,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  We  you  know  are  friends ! " 
He  whispered  to  him  again,  "  Be  prudent,  do 
as  I  tell  you,' don't  look  about  you,  trust  to  me 
who  wish  you  no  harm.  Let  us  go."  And 
the  escort  now  got  into  motion. 

Renzo,  however,  believed  in  none  of  these 
fair  words,  nor  that  either  the  notary  or  the 
birri  had  any  friendly  intentions  to  him;  nor 
had  he  the  least  confidence  in  the  prodigious 
interest  that  was  shown  about  his  reputation, 
or  in  the  intention  that  was  expressed  to  aid 
him  ;  he  did  not  believe  a  word  of  all  this. 
But  he  comprehended  exceedingly  well,  that 
his  pretended  friend,  fearing  lest  in  the  way 
some  good  opportunity  of  slipping  out  of  his 
hands,  might  occur,  Had  invented  those  fine 
things  to  prevent  his  being  aware  of  it,  and 
from  taking  any  advantage  of  it.  So  that  all 
these  exhortations  served  to  no  purpose  but  to 
determine  Renzo  to  do  what  he  had  already  pro- 
posed to  himself,  which  was  quite  the  contrary. 

No  one  must  conclude,  however,  from  this, 
that  the  notary  was  an  inexperienced'  hand,  or 
a  novice  in  these  affairs.  He  was  a  regularly 
trained  knave,  our  historian  asserts,  who  seems 
to  have  been  one  of  his  friends ;  but  at  this  par- 
ticular juncture  his  mind  seems  to  have  been 
a  little  agitated.  If  he  had  been  quite  him- 
self, I  can  tell  you  he  would  have  made  a  joke 
of  any  one,  who  to  induce  another  to  do  what 
looked  suspicious,  would  have  set  about  sug- 
gesting and  inculcating  it  zealously,  with  the 
miserable  pretence  of  giving  him  friendty  and 
disinterested  advice.  But  there  is  a  general 
tendency  in  men  when  they  are  in  straights 
and  are  agitated,  and  perceive  what  others 
could  do  to  get  them  out  of  their  difficulties,  to 
urge  them  to  do  it  by  the  most  pressing  instan- 
ces and  with  all  sort  of  pretexts  ;  and  rogues, 
when  they  are  in  similar  critical  situations  fall 
also  under  the  general  law.  Hence  it  is,  that  in 
similar  circumstances,  for  the  greater  part  they 
cut  a  very  poor  figure.  Those  masterly  turns, 
those  refined  contrivances,  with  which  they  are 
accustomed  to  prevail,  which  to  them  are  be- 
come almost  a  second  nature,  which  conduct- 
ed with  the  necessary  serenity  and  tranquillity 
of  mind,  and  put  in  operation  in  season,  and 
which,  after  they  have  succeeded,  and  become 
known,  meet  with  universal  applause,  are, 


102 


THE  METROPOLITAN, 


when  they  are  in  straights,  managed  by  the 
poor  devils  in  a  hurried  tumultuous  way,  and 
without  either  address  or  neatness.  So  that  a 
third  person  who  observes  how  wretchedly 
they  bring  forward  their  contrivances  at  such 
times,  can't  help  pitying  and  laughing  at  them ; 
and  the  very  men  whom  they  pretend  to  ma- 
nage, although  less  adroit  than  themselves,  per- 
ceive the  game  they  are  playing,  and  receive 
lessons  from  the  very  artifices  used  against 
themselves.  For  this  reason  one  can  never 
enough  caution  rogues  by  profession,  to  keep 
themselves  cool,  or  what  is  better,  never  to  get 
into  difficult  contingencies. 

Renzo,  therefore,  when  they  were  scarce  in 
the  street,  began  to  throw  his  eyes  about  here 
and  there,  to  make  himself  conspicuous,  to 
thrust  his  head  forward,  and  listen  to  what  was 
going  on.  There  was,  however,  no  extraordi- 
nary concourse,  and  although  in  the  face  of 
more  than  one  passenger,  one  might  distinctly 
read  something  seditious,  still  every  one  kept 
his  road  straight  on,  and  as  to  open  sedition 
there  was  none  at  all. 

"  Judgment !  discretion  I"  murmured  the 
notary  behind  him,  "  Your  honor,  your  honor, 
my  son ."  But  when  Renzo  endeavoring  to  catch 
the  voices  of  three  persons  who  were  approach- 
ing them,  with  their  faces  quite  red,  and  heard 
them  speak  of  a  bakery,  of  flour  hidden  away, 
and  of  the  law,  he  began  also  to  make  signs  to 
them  with  his  features,  and  to  cough  in  a  way 
rather  different  from  one  who  has  taken  cold. 
The  men  looked  more  attentively  at  the  escort 
and  stopped  ;  others  who  were  coming  in  the 
same  direction  stopped  also ;  some  even  who 
had  passed  them,  having  turned  round  at  the 
whispering,  went  back  and  joined  them. 

"  Look  to  yourself,  judgment  my  son,  the 
worse  for  you,  do  you  see ;  don't  spoil  your  own 
affairs,  your  honor,  your  reputation,"  whisper- 
ed the  notary.  Renzo  however  made  matters 
worse.  The  birri,  after  looking  at  each  other 
a  moment,  thinking  they  were  doing  well, 
(every  one  is  subject  to  mistake)  gave  him  a 
twist  with  the  ruffles. 

"  Oy,  oy,  oy,"  screamed  out  the  young  fel- 
low. At  this  cry,  the  people  gathered  together, 
coming  from  every  part  of  the  street.  The 
escoK  now  was  completely  stopped.  "  This  is 
a  bad  fellow,"  said  the  notary  to  those  near 
him,"  he  is  a  thief  taken  in  the  fact ;  draw  back 
and  give  way  to  the  officers  of  justice."  But 
Renzo  seeing  how  things  were,  and  that  the 
birri  had  turned  pale,  and  were  at  last  dis- 
mayed, thought — if  I  don't  help  myself  now, 
it  will  all  the  worse  for  me.  And  immediately 
he  raised  his  voice,  "  My  lads,  they  have  ar- 
rested me,  because  yesterday  I  cried  out, 
"  Bread  and  justice.  I  have  done  nothing,  I 
am  an  honest  man,  help  me,  don't  abandon  me, 
my  lads." 

A  favorable  murmur,  and  encouraging  shouts 
were  raised  in  reply.  At  first  the  birri  com- 
manded, then  requested,  then  prayed  the  men 
nearest  to  them,  to  move  away,  and  to  let  them 
pass,  but  the  crowd  continued  to  increase,  and 


to  press-  upon  them  still  mere.  Seeing  the 
bad  way  they  were  in,  they  left  hold  of  their 
ruffles,  and  thought  of  nothing  but  mixing 
themselves  in  the  crowd,  to  get  off  unobserv- 
ed. The  notary  was  greatly  desirous  of  doing; 
the  same  thing,  but  the  black  cloak  he  had  on, 
brought  him  into  difficulties.  The  poor  man, 
pallia  in  the  face,  and  dismayed  at  neart,  en- 
deavored to  make  himself  small,  and  twisted 
himself,  in  order  to  slip  out  of  the  crowd,  but 
he  could  not  raise  his  eyes  without  seeing 
twenty  of  them  upon  him.  He  tried  every 
scheme  to  appear  as  if  he  was  a  stranger,  who 
passing  that  way  by  chance,  had  got  enclosed 
in  the  middle  of  the  crowd,  as  a  straw  gets  in- 
to a  block  of  ice,  and  meeting  the  looks  of  one 
of  them  who  stared  at  him  with  an  expression 
worse  than  the  others,  he,  having  drawn  up- 
his  mouth  into  a  smile,  with  a  silly  sort  of  ex- 
pression, asked  him,  "what  is  all  this  mob 
about?" 

"  An  old  crow ! "  answered  the  man,  *•  an 
old  crow  !  an  old  crow !"  was  re-echoed  by  the 
rest.  To  these  shouts,  pushes  were  added,  so 
that  in  a  short  time,  partly  with  his  own  limbs, 
and  partly  with  the  aid  of  their  elbows,  he  ob- 
tained what  he  was  most  anxious  about  just  at 
that  moment,  an  opportunity  of  getting  out  of 
this  terrible  squeeze. 


CHAPTER  XVI, 

"  Run,  run,  young  man,  there  is  a  convent 
there,  yonder  is  a  church,  here,  there,"  was 
called  out  to  Renzo  on  all  sides.  As  to  run- 
ning off,  he  was  in  need  of  very  little  of  that 
kind  of  advice.  From  the  first  moment  he  had 
encouraged  any  hope  of  getting  out  of  their 
claws,  he  had  thought  about  this,  and  made  up 
his  mind,  if  he  could  get  clear  of  them,  to  be 
off  without  stopping,  not  only  until  he  was  out 
of  the  city,  but  out  of  the  Dutchy.  For  he 
had  reflected, — they  have  got  my  name  on  their 
books,  how  the  devil  soever  it  got  there  ;  and 
with  my  name  and  surname  they  can  come  and 
take  me  whenever  they  choose — as  to  an  asy- 
lum, he  did  not  wish  to  avail  himself  of  it  but 
in  an  extreme  case.  For,  he  reflected,  if  it  is 
in  my  power  to  remain  a  bird  of  the  forest, 
I  won't  go  and  make  a  bird  in  a  cage  of  my- 
self. He  thought,  therefore,  of  taking  refnge 
in  that  town  in  the  territory  of  Bergamo,  where 
his  cousin  Bartolo  was  established,  whom,  it 
may  be  remembered,  had  often  invited  him  to 
go  there.  But  how  was  he  to  find  the  road  ? 
Left  in  an  unknown  part  of  a  city  itself  un- 
known to  him,  Renzo  did  not  even  know  by 
what  gate  the  road  to  Bergamo  went,  and  even 
if  he  had  known  that,  he  did  not  know  where 
the  gate  was.  He  hesitated  a  moment  about 
asking  directions  from  the  men  to  whom  he 
owed  his  liberty,  but  as  in  the  iew  moments 
he  had  had  to  meditate  about  his  own  affair* 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


103 


some  strange  thoughts  were  busy  in  his  head 
about  the  sword-cutter,  the  father  of  four  chil- 
dren, that  was  so  prodigiously  obliging,  he 
thought  it  best  not  to  let  out  his  intentions  to 
such  a  numerous  assembly,  where  there  might 
be  another  of  the  same  stamp,  and  immediate- 
ly determined  to  get  off  to  a  distance  from  the 
city,  and  to  find  out  the  road  as  he  was  going, 
from  somebody  or  other,  who  did  not  Know 
who  he  was,  or  why  he  asked  it.  He  therefore 
said  to  his  deliverers,  "  thank  you,  thank  you, 
my  lads,  God  bless  you,"  and  pushing  through 
the  space  that  was  immediately  made  for  him, 
lifted  up  his  heels,  and  was  off.  Away  he  went 
through  this  lane,  down  that  street,  as  hard  as 
he  could  for  a  while,  without  knowing  what 
direction  he  was  going  in.  As  soon  as  he 
thought  he  had  got  to  a  reasonable  distance,  he 
slackened  his  pace,  that  he  might  not  excite 
suspicion,  and  began  to  look  round,  for  some 
face  or  other  that  should  inspire  him  with  con- 
fidence enough  to  make  the  inquiry  he  wish- 
ed. But  even  here  there  was  a  difficulty.  It 
was  a  suspicious  question  to  put,  he  was  press- 
ed by  time ;  the  birri,  as  soon  as  they  were 
fairly  extricated  from  the  awkward  position 
they  had  got  into,  would  without  doubt  put 
themselves  upon  the  track  of  the  fugitive ;  the 
report  of  his  rescue  and  flight  might  even  have 
got  as  far  as  this ;  in  this  strait  Kenzo  had  to 
make  up  his  judgment  at  least  a  dozen  times, 
before  he  met  with  a  face  that  exactly  suited 
his  notions.  That  jolly  fat  looking  man  there, 
who  was  standing  bolt  up  at  his  shop  door, 
with  his  stout  legs,  and  nis  arms  behind  his 
back,  his  paunch  sticking  out,  holding  his 
chin  up  with  its  monstrous  dewlap  hanging 
from  it,  and  who  from  sheer  idleness  was  al- 
ternately raising  his  quivering  mass  on  the 
points  of  his  feet,  and  then  letting  it  come 
flown  again  upon  his  heels,  had  a  sort  of  a  cu- 
rious gossiping  look,  that  was  more  prone  to 
ask  questions  than  to  answer  them. 

This  other  man  who  was  approaching  him 
with  abstracted  eyes,  and  his  lip  hanging  down, 
far  from  promising  to  be  able  to  direct  another 
on  his  way,  scarcely  seemed  to  know  how  to 
find  his  own.  That  boy  there,  who  to  tell  the 
truth,  appeared  to  be  alert  enough,  had  still 
something  mischievous  in  his  look,  and  pro- 
bably would  have  indulged  some  mad  humor, 
and  directed  a  poor  countryman  the  very  op- 
posite way  to  that  he  wanted  to  travel.  So 
true  it  is  that  when  a  man  is  involved  in  a  dif- 
ficulty, every  thing  that  occurs  to  him,.seems 
to  be  a  new  one !  Having  cast  a  glance  at  one 
who  was  coming  on  in  haste,  he  concluded, 
that  having  probably  some  pressing  business 
on  hand,  he  would  give  him  an  immediate  and 
direct  answer  in  order  to  get  rid  of  him,  and 
perceiving  that  he  was  talking  to  himself,  he 
conceived  that  he  must  be  a  good  sort  of 
man.  He  went  up  to  him,  therefore,  and  said, 
"  Be  so  kind  sir,  as  to  tell  me  by  what  gate  the 
road  to  Bergamo  goes  ?" 

"  The  road  to  Bergamo  ?  by  the  oriental 
gate." 


"  Thank  you  sir !  and  which  is  the  way  to 
the  oriental  gate  ?" 

"  Take  that  left  hand  street,  it  will  bring 
you  to  the  cathedral  square ; — then — " 

"  That's  enough,  sir !  I  know  the  rest  of 
the  way,  and  I  hope  God  will  return  your 
kindness."  On  he  went  by  the  street  that 
had  been  pointed  out  to  him.  The  man  look- 
ed after  him  a  moment,  and  turning  in  his 
mind  the  question  that  had  been  put  to  him, 
and  that  style  of  walking  in  a  city,  said  to 
himself — either  he  has  given  it  to  somebody, 
or  somebody  wants  to  give  it  to  him. — 

Renzo  reached  the  square,  crossed  it,  passed 
by  a  heap  of  ashes  and  dead  embers,  and  re- 
cognized the  remains  of  the  bonfire  he  had 
seen  the  day  before ;  passing  the  cathedral 
steps,  he  saw  the  bakery  Delle-grucce  half  de- 
molished, guarded  by  soldiers,  and  went  on : 
at  last  by  the  street  that  he  had  before  come 
through  with  the  crowd,  he  came  to  the  con- 
vent of  the  capuchins ;  he  looked  at  the  little 
square  and  the  door  of  the  church,  and  said  to 
himself  sighing,  that  friar,  though,  gave  me 
good  advice  yesterday,  when  he  told  me  to  go 
into  the  church,  and  to  do  a  little  good  for  my- 
self. 

Here  having  stopped  a  moment  to  make 
some  observations  about  the  gate  he  was  to 
pass  through,  and  seeing,  although  at  some 
distance,  a  considerable  guard  about  it,  and 
having  his  head  full  of  fancies,  (he  is  to  pitied, 
for  he  had  cause  enough  for  them,)  he  felt  a 
reluctance  to  attempt  that  passage.  Here  at 
hand  was  a  place  of  asylum  to  which  he  was 
well  recommended  by  letter,  and  was  strongly 
tempted  to  enter  it.  But  regaining  courage, 
he  thought — a  bird  of  the  woods,  as  long  as  I 
can  be  so.  Who  knows  me  ?  Certainly  the 
birri  can't  be  watching  for  me  at  all  the  gates. 
He  looked  back  to  see  if  any  one  was  coming 
in  that  direction,  and  saw  nobody,  neither  did 
any  body  appear  to  take  any  notice  of  him. 
He  therefore,  proceeded,  and  brought  his  legs 
that  were  still  in  the  inclination  to  run,  to  a 
walk,  and  in  a  quiet  sort  of  way,  whistling  as 
he  went,  reached  the  gate.  Just  in  the  gate- 
way, there  was  a  heap  of  toll-gatherers,  and  by 
way  of  reinforcement  a  company  of  Spanish 
soldiers ;  but  they  were  all  placed  fronting  the 
suburbs,  to  prevent  the  entrace  of  all  those  who 
at  the  report  of  the  riot,  should  fly  to  it,  as  crows 
do  to  a  field  where  a  battle  has  taken  place ; 
so  that  Renzo,  trying  to  look  as  simple  as  he 
could,  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  a  quiet 
sort  of  gait,  passed  the  gate-way  without  any 
one  speaking  to  him,  though  his  heart  was 
beating  the  whole  time.  Seeing  a  lane  to  the 
right,  he  took  that  to  avoid  the  main  road,  and 
went  on  for  a  while  without  even  looking  be- 
hind him. 

Following  the  lane,  he  passed  by  farms  and 
villages,  and  advanced  without  asking  the 
names  of  any  of  them :  he  was  certain  he' 
was  leaving  Milan  behind,  and  was  in  hopes 
he  was  drawing  nigher  to  Bergamo,  that  was 
quite  enough  for  him  at  present.  Sometimes 


104 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


he  looked  back,  and  occasionally  rubbed  his 
wrists  that  still  pained  him,  and  had  a  red 
mark  round  them,  the  remains  of  the  whip 
cord.  His  thoughts  were,  as  any  one  may 
imagine,  a  confused  mass  of  repentances,  re- 
grets, vexations,  and  tenderness,  it  was  a  fa- 
tiguing study  to  remember  all  he  had  done  and 
said  the  preceding  evening  to  discover  the 
secret  part  of  his  sorrowful  history,  and  to 
imagine  how  they  could  possibly  have  learnt 
his  name.  His  suspicions  naturally  fell  upon 
the  sword  cutter,  to  whom,  he  well  remember- 
ed he  had  told  it.  And  going  over  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  had  got  it  from  him,  the 
whole  of  his  conduct,  and  his  propositions, 
which  always  ended  by  wanting  to  know 
something,  his  suspicions  were  turned  into 
certainty,  although  he  had  a  glimmering  sort 
of  recollection,  that  after  the  sword  cutter 
went  away  he  had  still  kept  on  talking,  but 
who  with,  and  what  it  was  about,  his  memo- 
ry, however  he  taxed  it,  could  tell  nothing  at 
all ;  all  it  could  tell  him  was,  that  at  that  par- 
ticular time,  it  was  not  at  home,  The  poor 
young  fellow  got  lost  in  these  speculations,  he 
was  like  a  man  that  had  signed  his  name  to  a 
great  many  blanks,  and  who  trusting  them  to 
another  in  whom  he  had  confided,  had  discov- 
ered that  he  was  a  complete  bungler ;  how  is 
lie  to  find  out  the  state  of  his  affairs,  when  the 
whole  is  a  chaos.  Another  painful  study  was 
how  to  form  for  the  future,  some  plan  not 
altogether  visionary,  or  altogether  unpleasant. 

What  soon  become  a  harder  matter  than  all 
the  rest,  was  how  to  find  the  road.  Having 
gone  for  a  while  at  random,  he  felt  the  neces- 
sity of  making  some  inquiry.  He  was  loath 
to  pronounce  the  word  Bergamo,  as  if  there 
was  something  suspicious  about  it,  but  it  was 
necessary  to  do  so.  He  determined,  therefore, 
as  he  had  before  done  in  Milan,  to  ask  some 
directions  from  the  first  traveler  he  met  with, 
whose  physiognomy  he  liked  and  he  did  so. 

"  You  are  out  of  the  road,"  answered  the 
man,  and  having  thought  a  little,  partly  by 
words  and  partly  by  gestures,  he  directed  him 
how  to  proceed  until  he  had  regained  the 
main  road.  Renzo  thanked  him,  pretended  to 
follow  his  advice,  and  indeed  tooK  the  direc- 
tion he  had  received,  with  the  intention  of 
getting  near  the  main  road,  of  not  losing  sight 
of  it,  of  going  on  a  parallel  course  with  it,  as 
well  as  he  possibly  could,  but  of  having  nothing 
else  to  do  with  it.  The  plan  was  easier  to  de- 
vise than  to  execute.  The  fact  was,  that  going 
from  right  to  left,  as  a  fish  does  through  the 
water,  following  the  indications  he  obtained 
on  the  road  a  little,  correcting  his  course  by 
his  own  notions  and  wishes,  and  following  the 
direction  of  the  various  roads  he  had  got  into, 
our  fugitive  had  traveled  perhaps  twelve  miles, 
when  he  had  left  Milan  only  six  behind,  and 
as  to  Bergamo,  he  was  in  luck  if  he  was  not 
i'arthei  on  it  than  ever.  He  began  to  compre- 
hend that  at  that  rate  he  would  never  get  to  the 
end  of  his  journey,  and  must  hit  upon  some 
other  expedient.  One  that  presented  itself  to 


him  was  to  find  out  the  name  of  some  place 
near  the  confines  of  the  Dutchy,  which  might 
be  reached  by  some  neighboring  road,  and 
making  inquiries  about  that,  he  could  get 
some  directions  without  dropping  any  thing 
on  the  way  about  Bergamo,  a  name  which 
seemed  to  him  to  smell  of  evasion,  of  running 
away,  and  of  every  thing  that  was  criminal. 

Whilst  he  was  thinking  how  he  could  fish 
all  this  out  without  occasioning  suspicion,  he 
saw  a  bough*  hanging  from  a  lone  house  at 
the  end  of  a  small  settlement :  he  had  for 
sometime  felt  as  if  he  was  desirous  of  restor- 
ing his  strength,  and  thinking  this  would  be 
a  good  place  to  accomplish  both  his  ends,  he 
went  in.  He  found  nobody  there  but  an  old 
woman  with  her  distaff  and  spindle  in  her 
hand,  and  asking  her  for  something  to  eat,  she 
offered  him  some  stracchino,f  and  some  good 
wine.  The  wine  he  declined,  (the  frolic  of 
the  preceding  evening  had  taken  his  relish 
away  for  that)  but  the  cheese  he  accepted, 
and  sat  down  requesting  the  old  woman  to 
bring  it  directly.  This  she  did,  and  immedi- 
diately  poured  out  a  shower  of  questions  on 
him,  who  he  was,  and  about  the  great  doings 
at  Milan,  the  report  of  which  had  reached  that 
place.  Renzo,  not  only  had  address  to  give 
the  go  by  to  her  questions,  but  taking  advan- 
tage even  of  the  difficulty,  made  the  old  wo- 
man's curiosity  useful  to  him,  when  she  ask- 
ed him  where  he  was  going. 

"  I  have  to  go  to  a  great  many  places,  he 
answered,  and  if  I  can  find  a  moment  to  spare, 
I  should  like  to  go  for  a  short  time,  to  that 
town  there,  a  tolerably  large  one,  upon  the 
road  to  Bergamo,  near  the  confines,  that  is  the 
confines  of  Milan—  What  is  the  name  of  it  ?" 
There  must  be  some  town  or  other  therea- 
bouts— thought  he  to  himself. 

"  You  mean  Gorgonzola,"  replied  the  old 
woman. 

"  Gorgonzola !"  repeated  Renzo,  as  if  to 
impress  the  word  better  upon  his  memory. 
"  Is  it  far  from  here  ?"  he  continued. 

"  I  don't  know  exactly ;  perhaps  ten,  per- 
haps twelve  miles,  if  one  of  my  sous  was  here, 
he  could  tell  you." 

"  And  do  you  think  one  could  get  there  by 
these  comfortable  by-roads,  without  taking  the 
highway,  really  there  is  so  much  dust  there,  it 
is  so  long  since  it  has  rained." 

"  I  suppose  you  can,  you  can  ask  at  the  first 
village  you  fall  in  with  on  the  right  hand 
road^"  And  she  told  him  the  name  of  the 
place. 

"  It's  all  right,"  said  Renzo,  and  getting  up, 
and  taking  in  his  hand  a  piece  of  bread  left 
from  his  meagre  repast,  of  a  quality  veiy  dif- 
ferent from  that  which  he  had  found  the  day 
before  at  the  foot  of  the  cross  of  Saint  Diony- 
sius,  he  paid  his  bill,  left  the  house,  and  took 


*  Little  road  tiiverns  have  a  bough  out  for  a  sign, 
tliis  id  a  very  ancient  custom  :  "  good  wine  needs  no 
bush,"  alludes  to  this  practice.  [Translator.] 

|  Country  cheese. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. ', 


105 


the  right  hand  road.  With  the  name  of  Gor- 
gonzola  in  his  mouth,  from  place  to  place,  he 
made  such  good  use  of  his  time,  that  he  reach- 
ed it  about  an  hour  before  sunset. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind  on  the  road,  to 
make  another  stop  there,  and  to  make  a  some- 
what more  substantial  meal.  His  legs  too 
would  have  liked  to  go  to  bed  awhile,  but  be- 
fore he  would  have  consented  to  this,  Renzo 
would  have  let  them  drop  off  on  the  way.  His 
intention  was  to  get  information  at  the  inn  of 
the  distance  from  the  Adda,  to  find  out  in  a 
dexterous  way  some  cross  road  that  led  there, 
and  to  start  again  as  soon  as  he  had  refreshed 
Himself.  Born  and  brought  up  at  the  second 
source,  so  to  speak,  of  that  river,  he  had  often 
heard  say,  that  at  a  particular  point,  and  for 
some  distance,  it  separated  the  Milanese  and 
Venetian  territories  :  he  had  not  a  very  pre- 
cise idea  of  the  situation  of  these  points,  but 
the  first  thing  in  his  mind  just  now  was  to  get 
beyond  the  river.  If  he  could  not  succeed  in 
doing  it  this  day,  he  had  determined  to  walk 
as  long  as  there  was  sufficient  light  to  get 
along  with,  and  sufficient  strength  left  in  his 
limbs,  and  then  to  wait  for  the  dawn  of  day, 
in  some  field,  or  any  solitary  place,  or  wher- 
ever it  might  please  God,  provided  always 
it  was  not  an  inn. 

Having  walked  a  few  paces  in  Gorgonzola, 
he  saw  a  sign,  entered,  and  told  the  landlord 
who  advanced  to  meet  him,  to  get  him  a  morsel 
of  something  to  eat  and  a  small  measure  of 
wine,  for  the  additional  miles,  and  the  time 
that  had  passed  over  had  abated  the  disgust  he 
had  felt  at  first  for  wine.  "  Let  me  have  them 
as  quick  as  you  can,"  added  he,  "  for  I  want 
to  go  on  directly."  This  he  said,  not  only  be- 
cause it  was  true,  but  also  because  he  was  un- 
der apprehensions,  lest  the  landlord,  supposing 
that  he  wanted  to  lodge  there,  might  take  into 
his  head  to  ask  him  about  his  name  and  sur- 
name, whence  he  came,  what  his  business  was 
— he  had  had  enough  of  that ! 

The  landlord  told  Renzo  he  should  be  served 
directly,  so  he  sat  down  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  table,  near  the  door,  the  place  where  timid 
people  always  go. 

There  were  in  the  room,  some  idle  country 
people,  who  after  having  discussed,  and  dis- 
puted, and  commented  upon  the  great  news 
from  Milan  of  the  preceding  day,  were  wor- 
rying themselves  to  find  out  how  things  had 
tone  on  this  day,  so  much  the  more,  that  the 
rst  intelligence  had  irritated  their  curiosity 
more  than  satisfied  it ;  it  was  an  insurrection 
that  had  been  neither  subdued,  nor  had  been 
victorious,  suspended  rather  than  terminated, 
by  night,  an  imperfect  sort  of  thing,  the  end  of 
an  act  rather  than  a  drama.  One  of  them  left 
the  others,  and  drawing  nigh  to  the  new  comer, 
asked  him  if  he  came  from  Milan. 

"Me?"  said  Renzo,  seemingly  surprized, 
in  order  to  gain  time  to  answer. 

"  You,  if  its  fair  to  ask." 

Renzo,  moving  his  head,  drawing  up  his  lips, 
and  letting  some  inarticulate  sounds  issue  from 
14 


them,  said,  "  Milan,  from  what  I  have  heard 
said — here  and  there,  is  not  a  place  to  go  to  at 
present,  unless,  indeed,  a  man's  business  is 
very  urgent." 

"  The  row  then  is  kept  up  still  to  day  ?"  the 
man  still  more  eagerly  inquired. 

"  To  know  that  one  ought  to  be  there,"  said 
Renzo. 

"  But  you  come  from  Milan,  don't  you  ?" 

"  I  come  from  Liscate,"  answered  the  youth 
immediately,  for  he  had  thought  about  what 
answer  he  would  give.  In  the  strict  sense  of 
the  term  he  had  come  from  there,  for  he  had 
passed  through  it,  and  had  learnt  the  name  of 
the  place  at  a  part  of  the  road,  from  a  traveler 
who  had  told  him  it  was  the  first  place  he 
would  go  through  before  he  reached  Gorgon- 
zola. 

"  Ah ! "  said  the  man,  with  a  tone  of  voice 
that  seemed  to  say, — I  wish  you  had  come  from 
Milan,  but  patience. — "  And  at  Liscate,"  he 
added,  "  were  there  no  news  from  Milan  ?" 

"  It  is  very  likely  that  somebody  might  know 
something,"  replied  our  mountaineer,  "  but  I 
heard  nothing  whatever."  These  words  he  ut- 
tered in  that  particular  sort  of  way,  that  means, 
I  know  nothing  more  about  it.  The  man 
went  back  to  his  company,  and  a  moment  after 
the  landlord  came  to  set  out  the  refreshment. 

"  How  far  is  it  from  here  to  the  Adda  ?" 
said  Renzo  to  him  in  an  under  tone,  with  a 
sleepy  sort  of  yawn,  and  an  indifferent  air, 
such  as  we  have  seen  him  put  on  before. 

"  To  the  Adda,  to  cross  it .'"  said  the  land- 
lord. 

"  That  is— yes— to  the  Adda  ?" 

"  Do  you  want  to  pass  by  the  bridge  of  Cas- 
sano,  or  by  the  ferry  of  Canonica?" 

"  Any  now — I  ask  merely  for  curiosity." 

"  1  mention  them,  because  these  are  the 
places  where  honest  men  pass — those  that  can 
give  a  good  account  of  themselves." 

"  Yes,  I  understand ;  and  how  far  is  it  ?" 

"  Why  you  may  say,  as  well  for  one,  as  for 
the  other,  a  little  more  or  less,  about  six  miles." 

"  Six  miles  !  I  did  not  know,"  said  Renzo. 
And  continuing  with  a  careless  indifference 
that  amounted  quite  to  affectation,  "  I  suppose, 
for  any  one  who  wanted  to  take  a  shorter  cut, 
there  are  other  places  to  pass." 

"  Certainly  there  are,"  replied  the  landlord, 
fixing  a  pair  of  eyes  on  him  full  of  mischievous 
curiosity.  This  was  enough  to  induce  the  youth 
to  suppress  the  other  inquiries  that  he  had 
quite  prepared.  Drawing  his  plate  towards 
him,  and  looking  at  the  wine  which  was  on  the 
table,  he  said,  "  Is  this  wine  quite  genuine?" 

"  As  true  as  gold,"  said  the  landlord,  "  ask 
any  man  here  an  the  country  round,  who  un- 
derstands it,  and  you»will  hear."  Having  said 
this,  he  joined  the  other  people. 

"  Curse  on  these  landlords,"  said  Renzo  in 
his  heart,  "  the  more  I  know,  the  worse  I  find 
them."  He  however  began  to  eat  with  a  good 
appetite,  listening,  however,  without  appearing 
to  do  so,  to  find  out  something  of  what  was 
thought  there  about  the  great  event  in  which 


106 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


he  had  taken  no  small  part,  and  especially  to 
observe  if  amongst  the  talkers  there  was  not 
some  honest  fellow,  whom  he  might  so  far 
trust  as  to  ask  the  way,  without  apprehension 
of  being  too  closely  questioned,  and  forced  to 
talk  about  his  own  ati'airs. 

"  But,"  said  one  of  them,  "  this  time  it  real- 
ly seems  as  if  the  people  of  Milan  were  in 
earnest.  Well,  tomorrow  at  farthest  we  shall 
hear  something." 

"I  am  sorry  I  did  not  go  to  Milan  this 
morning,"  said  another. 

"If  you  go  tomorrow,  I'll  go  too,"  said  se- 
veral of  them. 

"  What  I  want  to  know,"  answered  the  first, 
•«  is,  whether  these  great  folks  in  Milan  will 
think  of  poor  people  in  the  country,  or  no ;  or 
whether  they  will  make  good  laws  for  them- 
selves only.  You  know  what  sort  of  folks 
they  are,  eh  ?  Proud  citizens,  all  for  them- 
selves, as  if  country  people  were  not  Christ- 
ians." 

"  We've  got  mouths  as  well  as  they  have, 
both  to  eat,  and  to  stand  up  for  our  rights," 
said  another,  in  a  somewhat  modest  tone,  as 
the  proposition  was  rather  in  advance,  "  and 
when  the  matter  has  got  ahead,  so " 

"  There  is  no  grain  hidden  away,  not  even 
in  Milan,"  began  another  with  a  dark  and  mis- 
chievous face,  when  the  noise  of  a  horse  ap- 
proaching was  heard.  All  ran  to  the  door, 
and  having  got  a  sight  of  the  person  who  was 
coming,  went  to  meet  him.  It  was  a  Milanese 
tradesman,  who,  being  in  the  habit  of  going 
more  than  once  a  year  to  Bergamo  about  his 
business,  was  accustomed  to  pass  the  night  at 
that  inn,  and  as  he  generally  found  the  same 
company  there,  he  was  known  to  them  all. 
They  crowded  round  him,  one  took  hold  of 
the  bridle,  another  the  stirrup.  "  Welcome !" 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Have  you  had  a  good  journey  ?" 

"  Excellent,  and  you,  how  are  you  all  ?" 

•'All  well.  What  are  the  news  from  Mi- 
lan?" 

"  Ah !  you  want  some  news,"  said  the  trades- 
man, dismounting  and  giving  his  horse  to  a 
boy.  "  But,"  continued  he,  entering  the  house 
with  the  rest  of  the  company,  "  at  this  hour 
you  perhaps  know  them  better  than  myself." 

"Indeed  we  know  nothing  at  all,"  said 
more  than  one,  putting  their  hands  on  their 
breasts. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?"  said  the  tradesman,  "  then 
you  will  hear  some  famous  ones,  or  some  very 
bad  ones.  Landlord,  my  old  bed,  is  it  unoc- 
cupied ?  Very  well,  a  glass  of  wine,  and  my 
usual  mouthful— directly,  for  I  wish  to  go  to 
bed  early,  that  I  may  get  off  soon  in  the 
morning  and  reach  Bergamo  by  dinner.  And 
you,  all  of  you,"  he  continued,  seating  himself 
at  the  end  of  the  table  opposite  to  that  where 
Renzo  sat,  silent  and  attentive,  "  you,  haven't 
you  heard  all  the  strange  things  that  took 
place  yesterday?" 

"  We  have  heard  something  about  yester- 
day's work." 


"See  now,  whether  you  have  heard  the 
news  or  no.  I  was  going  to  say,  that  being 
all  day  on  the  watch  here,  picking  up  some- 
thing from  every  body  that  passes " 

"  But  to-day,  what  took  place  to-day  ?" 

"  Ah !  to-day,  haven't  you  heard  any  thing 
about  to-day?" 

"  Nothing  at  all :  no  one  has  passed." 

"  Then  let  me  moisten  my  lips,  and  I  will 
tell  you  what  has  taken  place  to-day,  you 
shall  hear."  He  filled  the  glass,  took  it  in  his 
right  hand,  then  with  the  two  first  fingers  of 
the  other  hajid  raised  his  mustachios,  stroked 
his  beard,  drank,  and  went  on.  "  Today  my 
friends,  little  was  wanting  to  make  it  as  rough 
as  yesterday  was,  or  worse.  And  I  can  hard- 
ly believe  I  am  here  to  tell  you  about  it,  for  I 
had  given  up  all  thoughts  of  the  journey,  in 
order  to  stay  at  home  aud  protect  my  little 
shop." 

"  What  took  place  ?"  asked  one  of  the  lis- 
teners. 

M  What  took  place  ?  You  shall  hear.  And 
cutting  the  victuals  that  were  on  his  plate, 
and  beginning  to  eat,  he  continued  his  narra- 
tion. The  company,  standing  round  him  at 
each  side  of  the  table,  listened  to  him  with 
their  mouths  wide  open.  Renzo,  at  the  lower 
end,  without  appearing  as  if  he  was  interested 
in  the  story,  attended  to  what  he  was  saying, 
perhaps  more  than  the  others,  finishing  slowly 
the  remains  of  his  meal. 

"  This  morning,  then,  those  rascals  that  cre- 
ated such  a  horrid  uproar  yesterday,  met  at 
the  place  they  had  agreed  on — intelligence  was 
obtained  of  this,  and  every  thing  prepared — 
and  gathered  together  again,  and  set  the  old  sto- 
ry in  circulation  from  street  to  street,  scream- 
ing out  in  order  to  get  a  mob  together.  You 
know  what  takes  place,  when,  with  reverence 
I  say  it,  the  house  is  swept ;  the  heap  of  dirt 
keeps  increasing  as  the  work  goes  on.  As 
soon  as  they  thought  the  crowd  was  great 
enough,  they  rushed  on  to  the  house  ot  the 
vicano  di  provisioni,  as  if  their  tyrannical 
conduct  of  yesterday  was  not  enough.  A 
man  of  such  high  character !  what  scoundrels ! 
and  such  things  as  they  said  against  him !  all 
of  them  inventions,  an  excellent,  punctual  gen- 
tleman. I  can  say  that,  for  I  do  business  for 
him,  he  gets  all  his  livery  clothes  from  inc. 
On  they  went  then  towards  his  house — if  you 
had  only  seen  them — such  vagabonds — such 
faces.  Only  imagine  to  yourself,  they  passed 
before  my  shop — such  a  set  of  physiognomies 
— they  beat  the  Jews  of  the  Via  Crucis  all  hol- 
low. And  the  words  that  came  out  of  their 
mouths  !  just  words  to  stop  one's  ears  against, 
if  it  was'nt  for  fear  of  being  observed.  They 
went  there  with  the  fine  intention  of  sacking 
the  house,  but — "  and  here  spreading  out  his 
left  hand  in  the  air,  he  put  the  end  of  his  thumb 
on  the  point  of  his  nose. 

"  But  ?"  cried  out  at  once  all  the  listeners. 

"  But  ?"  continued  the  tradesman,  "  they 
found  the  streets  blocked  up  with  timbers  and 
carts,  and  behind  this  barricade  a  regular  file 


1  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


107 


of  soldiers,  with  their  harquebusses  leveled, 
and  the  locks  against  their  mustachio's.  When 
they  saw  this  ceremony, — what  would  you  all 
have  done  in  such  a  case  ?" 

"Turned  back." 

"  To  be  sure,  and  that's  just  what  they  did. 
But  just  see  now,  if  it  wasn't  the  devil  himself 
that  was  in  them.  There  they  are  in  the  Cor- 
dusio  square,  in  sight  of  the  bakery,  that  yes- 
terday they  wanted  to  sack,  and  what  were 
they  doing  in  the  shop?  Why  they  were 
distributing  bread  to  those  that  came.  There 
were  several  cavaliers  there,  and  the  very 
flower  of  them,  seeing  that  every  thing  was 
done  in  good  order,  and  this  mob — I  tell  you 
they  had  the  devil  in  them,  and  there  was  not 
wanting  somebody  who  was  putting  them  up 
to  it, — this  mob  rushes  furiously  into  the 
bakery, — you  take  this,  I'll  take  that — in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye,  cavaliers,  bakers,  the 
counter,  benches,  bags,  kneading  troughs, 
bran,  flour,  paste,  all  one  a  top  o'  t'other." 

"  And  the  soldiers  ?" 

"  The  soldiers  had  the  vicar's  house  to  take 
care  of,  one  can't  sing  and  carry  the  cross  at 
the  same  time.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  I 
tell  you,  whatever  was  good  for  any  thing  was 
whipped  off:  and  then  they  must  have  their 
farce  of  yesterday  played  over  again,  carrying 
all  the  wrecks  to  the  square,  and  making  a 
bonfire,  and  the  villains  were  already  begin- 
ning to  drag  the  things  out,  when  one  of  them, 
a  greater  scoundrel  than  the  rest,  now  what 
sort  of  a  proposition  d'ye  think  he  made  ?" 

"What?" 

"  What  ?  why  to  pile  up  a  heap  in  the  shop 
itself,  and  set  fire  to  the  heap  and  the  house  at 
the  same  time.  Said  and  done — " 

"  Did  they  set  fire  to  it  ?" 

"  Stop  a  while,  an  excellent  man  of  the 
neighborhood  had  an  inspiration  from  heaven. 
He  ran  up  stairs,  looked  for  a  crucifix,  found 
it,  hung  it  out  of  the  bow  of  a  window,  took 
from  the  head  of  a  bed  two  holy  candles,  lit 
them,  and  fixed  them  to  the  right  and  left  of 
the  cross,  on  the  window  sill.  The  people 
looked  up.  In  such  a  place  as  Milan,  and  it 
is  right  to  state  it,  there  is  yet  a  little  fear  of 
God  left.  They  came  to  themselves,  the  great- 
est part  of  them !  There  were,  it  is  true,  some 
devils  there,  that  for  the  sake  of  plunder  would 
have  set  fire  to  Paradise,  but  perceiving  the 
rest  were  not  of  their  opinion,  they  had  to 
keep  quiet.  Then  all  the  dignitaries  of  the 
cathedral  went  into  procession,  with  the  cross 
lifted  up,  in  their  choral  dresses ;  and  Monsig- 
nor  the  archpriest  began  to  intreat  on  one  side, 
and  Monsignor  the  Penitentiary  on  the  other, 
and  others  in  other  places — but,  my  good  peo- 
ple, what  would  you  do  now  ?  is  this  an  exam- 
ple to  set  to  your  children  ?  go  home,  you  shall 
nave  bread  cheap  ;  just  go  and  look,  you  will 
see  the  price  fixed  at  the  corners  of  the  streets." 

"  Was  it  so  ?" 

"  How !  if  it  was  so  ?  do  you  think  the  dig- 
nitaries of  the  cathedral  would  come  out  in 
their  robes  just  to  tell  a  pack  of  idle  tales  ?" 


"  And  what  did  the  people  do  ?" 

"  By  degrees  they  dispersed,  they  went  to 
the  corners,  and  those  who  knew  how  to  read, 
found  it  was  exactly  so.  What  do  you  think 
of  bread  weighing  eight  ounces  being  fixed  at 
a  soldo  ?" 

"What  capital  luck!" 

"It  looks  well,  if  it  only  lasts.  Do  you 
know  how  much  flour  they  have  wasted  be- 
tween yesterday  and  this  morning  ?  As  much 
as  would  have  lasted  the  Dutchy  two 
months." 

"  And  in  favor  of  us  in  the  country,  have 
they  made  no  regulations  ?" 

"  What  they  have  done  in  Milan,  is  at  the 
expense  of  the  city.  I  don't  know  what  to 
say  about  that,  you'll  have  such  luck  as  it 
pleases  God  to  give  you.  Any  how  the  riots 
are  over,  but  I  nave  not  told  you  all,  here  is 
the  best  of  it." 

"  What,  has  any  thing  else  happened  ?" 

"  Last  night  or  this  morning,  I  don't  know 
which,  they  took  up  a  great  many  leaders,  and 
we  heard  immediately  afterwards  that  four  of 
them  were  to  be  hanged.  As  soon  as  this  was 
knowD,  every  man  in  the  streets  went  right 
home,  lest  they  might  get  him  for  a  fifth.  Mi- 
lan, when  I  left  it,  was  as  still  as  a  convent  of 
friars." 

"  But  will  they  really  hang  them  ?" 

"Without  doubt,  and  that  directly,"  an- 
swered the  man. 

"  And  what  will  the  people  do  ?"  asked  the 
one  who  had  questioned  him  before. 

"  The  people  will  go  and  see  them  hung," 
said  the  tradesman. 

"  They  had  such  a  strong  desire  to  see  a 
Christian  die  in  the  open  air,  that  the  rascals 
wanted  to  honor  the  vicar  of  provisions  upon 
such  an  occasion.  But  in  exchange  they  will 
have  four  gluttons  waited  upon  with  all  sorts 
of  formality,  accompanied  by  capuchins,  and 
by  the  brethren  who  attend  on  these  occa- 
sions ;  these  fellows  have  deserved  it  It  is  a 
visitation  of  providence,  do  you  see,  a  neces- 
sary thing.  They  had  already  begun  to  take 
a  fancy  to  enter  shops  to  help  themselves,  with- 
out taking  their  purses  out  of  their  pockets ; 
if  they  had  been  left  alone,  after  they  had  done 
with  the  bread,  they  would  have  begun  with 
the  wine,  and  so  from  one  thing  to  another. 
You  may  suppose  they  would  not  be  in  a 
hurry  to  discontinue  such  a  convenient  custom 
of  their  own  accord.  And  I  can  tell  you,  that 
for  an  honest  man  who  keeps  an  open  shop, 
there  was  no  great  fun  in  the  thought  of  being 
exposed  to  such  treatment." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  one  of  his  auditors;  "to 
be  sure,"  said  all  the  others  in  chorus. 

"  And,"  continued  the  Milanese,  wiping  hi» 
beard  with  the  cloth,  "  all  this  has  been  plotted 
a  long  time.  There  was  a  league,  do  you 
know  that  ?" 

"  A  league  ?" 

"  There  was  a  league.  A  cabal  made  by 
the  Navarese,  by  that  cardinal  there  in  France, 
you  know,  who  has  a  name  half  Turkish,  and 


108 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


who  every  day,  is  contriving  a  new  trick,  to 
cast  a  shame  on  the  crown  ot  Spain.  But  es- 
pecially he  tries  to  bring  them  to  bear  on  the 
city  of  Milan,  because  the  knave  knows  very 
well  that  the  principal  strength  of  the  King 
lies  there." 

"  To  be  sure."       * 

"  Do  you  want  proof  of  that  ?  Those  who 
made  the  greatest  riot  were  foreigners,  there 
were  certain  faces  seen  in  Milan,  which  had 
never  been  seen  there  before.  And  indeed,  I 
had  forgotten  to  tell  you  a  thing  that  was  told 
to  me  Tor  certain.  The  officers  of  justice 

caught  hold  of  one  of  them  in  an  inn " 

Renzo  who  did  not  lose  a  syllable  of  what 
was  saying,  when  that  chord  was  touched,  was 
seized  with  a  chill,  and  gave  a  twitch,  before 
he  could  restrain  himself.  No  one,  however, 
perceived  it,  and  the  narrator,  without  inter- 
rupting his  story  for  an  instant,  went  on.  "  A 
fellow,  where  he  came  from  they  can't  tell  yet, 
or  who  sent  him,  nor  what  class  of  men  he  be- 
longs to,  but  certainly  one  of  the  leaders.  Yes- 
terday in  the  midst  of  the  uproar,  he  played  the 
devil,  and  not  content  with  that,  he  began  to 
make  harangues  and  propositions — a  few  tri- 
fles— such  as  putting  to  death  all  the  cavaliers. 
A  villain!  how  would  poor  people  live,  if  all 
the  gentle  folks  were  put  out  of  the  way.  The 
police  that  had  watched  him,  laid  hands  on 
him,  found  a  great  bundle  of  letters  upon  him, 
and  carried  him  off  to  prison.  But  what  do 
you  think  ?  His  companions  that  were  about 
the  inn,  to  protect  him,  came  in  great  numbers, 
and  rescued  him,  the  scoundrel. 

"And  what  happened  then  ?" 

"  Nobody  knows,  either  he  escaped,  or  he 
lies  hid  in  Milan.  There  are  people  that  have 
neither  house  nor  home,  and  find  every  where 
some  place  to  hide  themselves  away,  as  long 
as  the  devil  is  disposed  to  help  them,  and  does 
help  them.  He  leaves  them  nowever,  at  last, 
ina  they  are  caught  when  they  are  least  look- 
ed for ;  pears  will  fall  when  they  are  ripe.  It 
is  known,  however,  so  far,  that  the  letters  re- 
main in  the  hands  of  the  police,  and  that  the 
whole  cabal  is  described  in  them,  and  that  a 
great  many  persons  are  compromised.  May 
they  get  what  they  deserve,  for  they  have 
turned  half  Milan  topsy  turvy,  and  wanted  to 
do  worse.  They  say  the  bakers  are  rogues. 
I  know  that  as  well  as  they  do,  but  punish 
them  at  any  rate  according  to  law.  There  is 
grain  concealed  !  Well,  who  does  not  know 
that  ?  But  it  is  the  business  of  those  who  are  at 
the  head  of  the  government  to  keep  a  good 
look  out,  and  disinter  it,  and  swing  all  the  mo- 
nopolizers and  bakers  together  in  the  air.  And 
if  those  who  command  won't  do  any  thing, 
then  the  city  ought  to  remonstrate,  and  if  they 
don't  listen  at  first,  they  should  remonstrate 
again,  keep  remonstrating  and  you  always  get 
justice,  but  don't  permit  such  an  infernal  way 
as  this  to  be  adopted  in  the  city — fellows  to  en- 
ter in  a  fury  into  the  shops  and  stores  merely 
for  booty." 

Renzo's  short  repast  had  become  like  poison 


to  him.  It  seemed  to  him  a  thousand  years 
before  he  should  get  out  of  the  inn,  and  leave 
it  at  a  distance  as  well  as  the  whole  country  , 
more  than  ten  times  he  had  said  to  himself, — 
"Lets'  be  off— lets'  be  off."  But  the  fear  of 
exciting  suspicion,  which  had  increased  be- 
yond measure,  and  tyrannized  over  all  his 
thoughts,  kept  him  fixed  to  his  seat.  In  his 
perplexity,  however,  he  thought  this  talkative 
person  must  certainly  have  soon  done  speak- 
ing of  him,  and  determined  within  himself,  to 
leave  the  house  as  soon  as  ever  he  began  the 
subject  again. 

"  This  is  the  reason,"  said  one  of  the  com- 
pany, "  that  I,  who  know  how  these  things  are 
done,  and  that  honest  men  are  always  the  worst 
treated  in  riots,  would  not  let  my  curiosity  get 
the  better  of  me,  and  remained  in  my  own 
house." 

"  And  I,  did  I  go  ?"  said  another. 

"  I !"  added  a  third,  "  if  I  had  been  in  Mi- 
lan, would  have  left  any  business  undone,  and 
would  have  come  directly  home.  I  have  a 
wife  and  children ;  and  besides,  I  tell  the  truth, 
these  riots  don't  please  me."  At  this  moment 
the  landlord,  who  had  been  one  of  the  audi- 
tors, went  to  the  other  end  of  the  table  to  see 
what  the  stranger  was  doing.  Renzo  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  opportunity,  beckoned  him  to 
him,  asked  what  he  had  to  pay,  settled  the  ac- 
count, though  his  funds  were  pretty  short,  and 
with  out  uttering  another  word,  went  straight 
to  the  street  door,  passed,  the  threshold,  took 
care  not  to  take  the  road  he  had  come  by,  but 
taking  the  opposite  one,  committed  himself  to 
Providence. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

IT  frequently  happens  that  when  we  en- 
courage a  particular  inclination,  it  is  the  source 
of  much  discomfort  to  us,  imagine  then  how  it 
must  be  when  two  are  struggling  within  us  at 
the  same  time,  one  at  war  wjlth  the  other. 
Poor  Renzo  had  been  for  several  hours  under 
the  influence  of  two  such,  an  inclination  to 
run,  and  an  inclination  to  lie  hid  ;  and  the  un- 
pleasant news  of  the  Milanese  had  extremely 
augmented  them  both.  His  adventure  then 
had  made  a  noise,  orders  were  out  then  to  ar- 
rest him ;  how  many  birri  might  there  not  be 
out  in  his  pursuit!  What  orders  might  not 
have  been  despatched  to  keep  a  look  out  in 
the  villages,  at  the  inns,  on  the  roads  !  It  is 
true  he  reflected  that  there  were  only  two  of 
the  birri  who  knew  him,  and  that  he  did  not 
carry  his  name  written  on  his  forehead,  but  a 
hundred  stories  rushed  to  his  mind  about  fugi- 
tives being  discovered  and  taken  up  in  obscure 
roads,  of  their  being  recognized  by  their  gait, 
by  a  suspicious  appearance,  and  other  marks 
they  did  not  think  of;  every  thing  alarmed  him. 
Although  at  the  moment  he  left  Gorgonzola, 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


109 


the  Avemaria  was  just  striking,  and  the  dark- 
ness, which  was  coming  on,  was  continually 
diminishing  those  dangers,  still  he  took  the 
main  road  with  reluctance,  and  proposed  to 
himself  to  get  into  the  first  by-lane  that  pro- 
mised to  bring  him  to  the  point  he  was  aiming 
at.  At  the  begining  he  met  with  a  few  travel- 
ers, but  his  imagination  being  filled  with  these 
disagreeable  apprehensions,  he  had  not  the 
resolution  to  stop  any  one  and  speak  to  him. 
He  said  six  miles — thought  he  ;  if  I  go  by  the 
lanes  and  by-ways,  and  they  should  even  come 
to  be  eight  or  ten,  the  limbs  that  have  done  the 
rest,  will  be  able  to  do  these  likewise.  Certain- 
ly I  am  not  going  towards  Milan,  then  I  must 
be  going  towards  the  Adda ;  if  I  keep  going 
on,  sooner  or  later  I  shall  certainly  reach  it. 
The  Adda  has  a  good  voice  of  its  own,  and 
when  I  get  near  it,  I  sha'nt  want  any  body  to 
tell  me  where  it  is.  If  there  is  a  boat,  I  will 
cross  it  directly,  otherwise  I  will  stop  until 
tomorrow  in  some  field,  upon  some  tree,  like 
the  birds.  It  is  better  to  be  on  a  tree  than  in 
a  prison. 

He  soon  came  up  with  a  lane  to  the  left 
hand,  and  took  it.  At  that  hour,  if  he  had 
fallen  in  with  any  body,  he  would  not  have 
been  afraid  to  speak  to  him,  but  there  was  no 
sound  of  living  footsteps ;  he  therefore  follow- 
ed the  direction  of  the  road,  and  amused  him- 
self with  his  own  reflections. 

— I  play  the  devil !  I  put  to  death  all  the 
cavaliers !  a  bundle  of  letters  in  my  possession  ! 
My  companions  that  were  about  the  inn  to 
protect  me !  I  would  give  a  trifle  to  find  my- 
self face  to  face  with  that  tradesman,  on  the 
other  side  the  Adda,  (when  shall  I  get  across 
that  blessed  Adda?)  and  to  stop  him,  and  ask 
him  at  my  ease  where  he  fished  up  all  that  won- 
derful news.  Learn,  my  good  sir,  that  the 
affair  was  so  and  so;  and  that  I  played  the 
devil  just  no  farther  than  to  aid  Ferrer,  as  if 
he  had  been  my  brother.  Learn  also  that  those 
rascals,  that  according  to  you  were  my  friends, 
wanted  to  play  me  a  villanous  trick,  merely 
because  I  said  a  few  words  like  a  good  Chris- 
tian ;  learn  that  whilst  you  was  taking  care  of 
your  shop,  I  was  getting  my  ribs  half  broke  to 
save  your  signor  vicar  of  provisions,  whom  I 
never  saw  or  knew  in  the  course  of  my  life. 
Indeed,  you  may  have  to  stop  a  while  before 
I  go  again  to  help  your  gentry.  It  is  true  one 
ought  to  do  it,  they  are  our  neighbors  too.  And 
that  great  bundle  of  letters,  where  all  the  cabal 
was  described,  and  which  is  now  in  the  hands 
of  justice,  as  you  say  you  know  with  so  much 
certainty,  what  if  I  take  it  out  and  show  it 
to  you  here  on  the  spot,  without  the  aid  of 
the  devil !  Would  you  like  to  see  that  bundle  ? 
Here  it  is — what  is  it  a  single  letter  ?  Yes, 
sir,  a  single  letter,  and  this  letter  if  you  have  a 
mind  to  know,  was  written  by  a  religious  per- 
son that  can  teach  you  doctrine  whenever  you 
ha^e  a  mind ;  a  religious  person,  that  meaning 
no  wron<£  to  you,  lias  more  virtue  in  every 
hair  of  his  beard,  than  in  all  yours  put  toge- 
ther ;  and  it  is  written,  this  letter  as  you  see,  I 


would  just  teil  you,  to  another  religious  per- 
son, a  man  also  who — now  just  see  what  sort 
of  scoundrels  my  friends  are.  Pray  mind 
what  you're  talking  about  another  time,  espe- 
cially when  you  are  talking  of  your  neigh- 
bor.— 

After  some  time,  however,  these  and  other 
thoughts  like  to  them  gave  way  altogether, 
and  present  circumstances  entirely  occupied 
the  faculties  of  the  poor  pilgrim.  The  fear 
of  being  followed  or  discovered,  which  had  so 
much  embittered  his  journey  during  the  day, 
influenced  him  no  more,  but  how  many  cir- 
cumstances rendered  his  present  situation  still 
more  disagreeable.  Darkness,  solitude,  in- 
creased fatigue,  which  now  was  becoming 
painful ;  a  sharp  and  subtile  night  air,  too,  not 
comfortable  to  one  who  was  piovided  with  no 
other  garments  than  those  he  had  dressed  him- 
self with  for  his  nuptials,  in  which  he  hoped 
to  return  to  his  house,  only  a  few  paces  oft,  in 
triumph :  and  what  rendered  every  thing  still 
more  annoying,  was  the  traveling  in  this  man- 
ner, at  random,  looking,  as  the  saying  is,  with 
one's  nose,  for  a  place  of  rest  and  safety. 

When  it  was  necessary  to  pass  through  some 
settlement,  he  proceeded  in  the  most  cautious 
manner,  looking,  however,  if  any  door  was 
open,  but  seeing  no  other  sign  of  people  being 
up,  save  from  an  occasional  fight  that  appeared 
through  some  paper  window.  On  the  road, 
he  sometimes  stopped  an  instant,  and  listened 
in  the  hope  to  hear  the  blessed  sound  of  the 
Adda,  but  in  vain.  No  other  sounds  were 
heard  but  the  howling  of  dogs,  that  came  from 
some  lone  farm,  wandering  through  the  air, 
in  an  angry  and  querulous  tone.  When  he 
drew  nigh  to  one  of  these  farms,  the  howling 
changed  to  a  regular  fierce  barking,  and  in  pass- 
ing the  door,  he  heard  and  almost  saw  the  ani- 
mal with  his  snout  at  the  centre  of  the  gate- 
way, redoubling  his  barking,  a  circumstance 
that  removed  every  temptation  to  knock  and 
ask  an  asylum  for  the  night ;  perhaps,  also,  if" 
there  had  been  no  dogs,  he  wfuld  equally  have 
wanted  the  courage  to  do  it. — Who 's  there  ? 
thought  he. — What  do  you  want  at  this  time 
o'  night  ?  How  did  you  come  here  ?  What's 
your  name  ?  Are  there  no  inns  to  lodge  at  ? — 
These  are  the  questions  they'll  ask,  if  I  knock, 
even  if  things  take  the  best  turn ;  unless  in- 
deed some  timid  person  should  live  there  and 
begin  screaming  out — help!  thieves  !— one 
must  have  something  very  satisfactory  to  an- 
swer directly,  and  what  answer  have  I  to  give  ? 
When  people  hear  a  noise  in  the  night,  they 
think  of  nothing  but  thieves,  house  breakers, 
and  plots,  they  never  think  that  an  honest 
man  can  be  caught  out  in  the  night,  unless, 
indeed  it  should  be  some  rich  man  in  his  car- 
riage.— He,  therefore,  put  off  that  plan  to  the 
last  extremity,  and  pursued  the  road,  in  the 
hope  of  discovering  the  Adda  that  night  at 
least,  if  not  of  passing  it,  and  that  he  should 
not  be  compelled  to  look  for  it  by  day  light. 

At  length  he  came  to  where  the  cultivated 
part  of  the  country  ceased,  and  where  the 


110 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


land  being  uninclosed,  ferns  and  broom  grass 
grew  wildly  about.  This  seemed  to  him,  if 
not  a  sign  of  the  river,  at  least  a  reason  for 
supposing  it  not  far  off,  and  after  going  on 
awhile,  he  stopped  again  to  listen,  but  in  vain. 
The  disagreeableness  of  the  road  became  aug- 
mented by  the  savageness  of  the  place ;  there 
was  neither  mulberry,  nor  vine,  nor  any  other 
sign  of  human  cultivation,  the  which  at  first 
had  been  a  sort  of  company  to  him.  He  went 
on,  however,  and  feeling  that  certain  notions 
were  taking  possession  of  his  mind,  some  of 
those  apparitions  and  fancies  planted  there 
by  a  hundred  stories  that  he  had  heard,  to 
drive  them  away  or  keep  them  down,  he  be- 
gan as  he  walked  on,  to  recite  prayers  for  the 
dead. 

Gradually,  however,  the  plants  became  tall- 
er, scrub  oaks  and  other  shrubs  appeared,  and 
hastening  on  with  more  impatience  than  alacri- 
ty, he  began  to  distinguish  a  few  trees,  and 
continuing  in  the  same  path,  he  perceived  he 
was  entering  a  wood.  He  felt  a  repugnance 
to  enter  it,  but  overcoming  this,  he  reluctantly 
went  on.  The  farther  he  went,  the  more  this 
feeling  increased,  and  the  more  every  thing 
added  to  it.  The  trees  at  some  distance  from 
him,  had  a  strange,  deformed  and  singular 
aspect;  the  shadow  of  their  tops  slightly  agi- 
tated, and  which  trembled  in  the  moon  light 
that  fell  upon  the  path,  was  displeasing  to 
him ;  the  rattling  even  of  the  dry  leaves, 
moved  about  and  crushed  beneath  his  feet, 
was  hateful  to  him.  His  limbs  experi- 
enced a  sort  of  dismay,  an  impulse  of  flight, 
whilst  at  the  same  time,  it  was  with  difficulty 
they  could  sustain  his  body.  The  night  wind 
came  still  more  severely  on  his  brow  and 
cheeks,  he  felt  it  beneath  his  garments,  it 
pinched  him,  and  penetrated  more  acutely  his 
enfeebled  joints,  and  almost  extinguished  the 
last  remains  of  his  vigor.  At  one  time,  the 
disgust,  the  undefined  horror  with  which  his 
mind  struggled  for  sometime,  appeared  to  have 
entirely  prostrated  him.  He  almost  sunk  be- 
neath them,  but  Manned  at  the  state  of  terror 
in  which  he  was,  more  than  at  any  thing  else, 
he  called  up  his  ancient  courage,  and  ordered 
it  to  take  the  command.  Thus  reanimated 
for  a  moment,  he  stopped  to  deliberate  an  in- 
stant, and  determined  to  return  by  the  road 
he  had  come,  to  gain  as  quick  as  possible  the 
last  village  he  had  passed,  to  return  amongst 
men,  to  seek  an  asylum  with  them,  even  if  it 
were  at  an  inn.  Whilst  he  was  in  this  train 
of  mind,  and  the  rustling  of  the  dry  leaves 
had  ceased,  whilst  all  was  silent  around  him, 
a  noise  reached  his  ears,  a  sort  of  murmur,  a 
murmuring  of  running  water.  He  looked, 
satisfied  himself,  and  exclaimed,  "  It  is  the 
Adda !"  He  felt  as  if  he  had  found  a  brother, 
a  friend,  a  savior.  His  weariness  was  almost 
forgotten,  his  pulse  beat  again,  he  fell  his 
blood  flow  freely  and  warmly  again  in  his 
veins,  he  felt  his  confidence  in  himself  return, 
and  the  darkness  and  tearfulness  of  things  to 
lose  their  influence ;  he  no  longer  hesitated  to 


penetrate  farther  into  the  wood,  guided  by  the 
friendly  sound. 

At  length  he  reached  the  extremity  of  the 
plain,  at  the  edge  of  a  high  bank,  and  peeping 
through  the  bushes  with  which  it  was  covered, 
he  saw  the  running  water  glistening  at  the  foot 
of  it.  Lifting  his  eyes,  he  saw  the  extensive 
plain  on  the  other  side,  scattered  over  with 
villages,  with  the  hills  beyond  them,  upon  one 
of  which  was  an  extensive  whitish  spot,  where 
he  thought  he  could  discern  a  city — that  must 
be  Bergamo.  He  went  a  little  upon  the  slope 
of  the  Dank,  and  putting  the  bushes  on  one 
side,  with  his  arms  and  hands,  he  looked  to 
see  if  there  was  any  little  bark  moving  on 
the  river,  and  listened  for  the  noise  of  oars, 
but  he  neither  saw  nor  heard  any  thing.  If  it 
had  been  any  stream  of  less  importance  than 
the  Adda,  he  would  have  gone  to  the  bottom 
of  the  bank  with  a  view  to  ford  it,  but  he 
knew  very  well  that  that  was  not  to  be  done 
with  the  Adda. 

He  therefore  began  quietly  to  consult  with 
himself  what  was  best  to  do.  If  he  should 
climb  some  tree  and  wait  the  day  light  there, 
for  at  least  six  hours  that  had  yet  to  pass  over, 
with  such  a  keen  biting  air,  in  sucn  a  dress, 
he  could  not  escape  being  chilled.  To  walk 
backwards  and  forwards,  to  keep  himself  dur- 
ing the  time  in  motion,  would  not  only  be  in- 
sufficient  against  the  coolness  of  the  night, 
but  was  asking  too  much  of  his  poor  limbs 
that  had  already  done  so  much  more  than  their 
duty.  He  fortunately  remembered  having  ob- 
served in  a  field  near  to  the  uncultivated  lands, 
a  cascinotto.  The  countrymen  of  the  Milan- 
ese plain  have  given  this  name  to  the  cabins 
they  build  covered  with  straw,  made  with 
logs  and  branches  of  trees  between  them,  and 
the  apertures  stopped  up  with  mud ;  here  dur- 
ing the  summer  they  deposit  the  harvest, 
watching  them  in  the  night  time,  whilst  at 
other  seasons  of  the  year  they  are  abandoned. 
This  he  immediately  fixed  upon  for  his  lodg- 
ings, and  regaining  the  path,  he  repassed  the 
wood,  the  bushes,  and  the  uncultivated  ground, 
reached  the  field,  saw  the  log  house  and  went 
to  it.  A  sort  of  barn  door  it  had,  quite  decayed, 
was  badly  hung,  and  ajar,  without  any  fasten- 
ing to  it.  Renzo  opened  it,  and  saw  suspended 
in  the  air,  and  hanging  by  the  crooks  of  some 
branches,  a  sort  of  rack  like  a  hammock,  but 
he  had  no  curiosity  to  get  up  to  it.  He  per- 
ceived some  straw  also  upon  the  floor,  and  it 
struck  him  that  he  could  get  a  very  good  nap 
there. 

Before,  however,  he  stretched  himself  upon 
the  couch  which  Providence  had  there  spread 
for  him,  he  knelt  down  to  return  thanks  for  it, 
and  for  all  the  assistance  which  he  had  receiv- 
ed in  that  terrible  day.  He  then  said  his  ac- 
customed prayers,  ana  having  ended  them,  he 
asked  pardon  of  God  for  having  omitted  them 
the  preceding  evening ;  nay,  as  he  said,  for 
having  gone  to  sleep  like  a  dog,  or  worse. 
And  this  was  the  reason,  added  he  to  himself, 
putting  his  hands  on  the  straw  whilst  still  on 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


Ill 


his  knees,  I  had  such  a  beautiful  awakening  of 
it  this  morning.  He  then  gathered  the  straw 
together  that  was  near  him  and  put  it  against 
his  back,  covering  himself  as  well  as  he  could 
to  keep  the  cold  olf,  which  was  severe  enough 
even  there,  and  then  he  drew  himself  up  be- 
neath it,  with  the  intention  of  getting  a  good 
sleep,  thinking  that  he  had  earned  it  that  day 
with  more  than  usual  pains. 

But  scarce  were  his  eyes  closed,  when  in  his 
memory  or  fancy,  (in  which  it  is  not  precise- 
ly known,)  there  arose  such  a  crowded  and 
incessant  going  and  coming  of  forms,  that  eve- 
ry thought  of  sleep  was  driven  away.  The 
tradesman,  the  notary,  the  birri,  the  sword 
cutter,  the  landlord,  Ferrer,  the  vicar,  the 
company  at  the  inn,  the  mob  in  the  streets, 
then  Don  Abbondio,  Don  Rodrigo,  every  one 
ef  which  awakened  some  recollection  of  mis- 
fortune or  of  hatred. 

Three  forms  alone  stood  before  him  that 
stirred  up  no  bitter  remembrance,  divested  of 
all  cause  for  apprehension,  amiable  in  every 
thing,  and  two  of  them  chiefly,  very  dissimi- 
lar to  each  other  it  is  true,  but  both  cherished 
in  the  young  man's  heart — one  with  black 
tresses,  the  other  with  a  white  beard.  But 
the  consolation  he  received  in  arresting  his 
thoughts  upon  them,  was  any  thing  but  pure 
and  tranquil.  When  he  thought  of  the  good 
friar,  he  lelt  a  more  lively  shame  for  his  folly, 
for  his  scandalous  intemperance,  of  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  had  neglected  his  paternal 
counsels;  and  whilst  his  soul  was  dwelling 
upon  the  image  of  Lucia,  we  shall  not  endea- 
vor to  describe  what  he  felt.  The  reader  who 
knows  all  the  circumstances  of  his  attachment, 
must  figure  it  to  himself.  And  that  poor  Ag- 
nes— he  did  not  forget  Agnes,  who  had  even 
chosen  him,  who  had  even  considered  him  as 
one  and  the  same  with  her  only  daughter,  and 
who,  before  she  had  received  from  him  the 
title  of  Mother,  had  taught  both  her  lips  and 
her  heart  to  acknowledge  it,  and  had  shown  her 
sincerity  by  the  tenderest  solicitude.  But  it 
was  an  additional  sorrow,  and  not  the  least 
painful  of  them,  the  reflection,  that  precisely 
because  of  her  affectionate  intentions,  and  of 
her  great  benevolence  towards  him,  the  poor 
woman  had  been  driven  from  her  home,  was  a 
fugitive,  uncertain  about  the  future,  and  was 
harassed  and  distressed,  in  consequence  of  the 
very  prospects  she  had  relied  upon  for  the  re- 
pose and  cheerfulness  of  the  decline  of  her 
years.  Poor  Renzo,  what  a  night !  The  fifth 
that  had  elapsed  since  his  intended  nuptials  ! 
What  a  chamber !  What  a  matrimonial  bed ! 
And  after  such  a  day !  And  then  the  mor- 
row— and  the  series  of  days  to  succeed.  It  is 
the  will  of  God — he  answered  to  all  these 
thoughts  that  crowded  upon  each  other — God 
must  do  what  he  pleases — he  knows  what  he 
is  doing — he  does  not  forget  us.  Let  it  all  go 
in  penitence  for  my  sins.  Lucia  is  so  good ! 
God  will  not  make  her  unhappy,  not  at  all. — 
Amidst  these  thoughts,  and  despairing  alto- 
gether to  court  sleep,  and  the  cold  becoming 


still  more  disagreeable,  so  much  so  as  to  make 
him  shiver,  and  his  teeth  to  chatter  every  now 
and  then,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  sighed  for  the 
approach  of  day,  and  measured  with  impa- 
tience the  slow  progress  of  the  hours.  1  say 
measured,  because  every  half  hour,  he  heard 
in  that  vast  silence  the  strokes  of  a  clock  re- 
sound, perhaps  that  of  Trezzo  :  and  the  first 
stroke  that  reached  his  ear,  was  so  unexpect- 
ed, it  was  so  impossible  to  imagine  whence  it 
came,  that  it  filled  his  mind  with  a  mysterious 
solemnity,  as  if  it  were  a  warning  from  some 
unseen  person,  in  some  unknown  voice. 

At  length,  when  the  clock  had  struck  ele- 
ven,* the  hour  which  Renzo  had  determined 
to  rise  at,  he  got  up  half  benumbed,  went  on 
his  knees,  recited  with  more  than  his  usual 
fervor,  his  morning  orations,  stood  up,  stretch- 
ed himself,  moved  his  legs  and  arms,  his  body 
and  shoulders,  to  bring  all  his  members  into 
play  together,  for  each  of  them  seemed  acting 
separately,  blew  first  into  one  hand  and  then 
the  other,  rubbed  them,  open  the  door  of  the 
cascinotto,  and  the  first  thing  he  did,  was  to 
give  a  look  round  to  see  if  any  body  waa 
there.  No  one  appearing,  he  sought  the  path 
he  had  trod  the  preceding  evening,  soon  found 
it,  in  a  plainer  and  more  distinct  manner  than 
he  remembered  it,  and  again  began  his  jourr 
ney  on  it. 

The  sky  announced  a  beautiful  day:  the 
moon  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  heavens,  pale 
and  without  rays,  diffusing  nevertheless  over 
the  immense  space  a  grayish  blue,  which  low- 
er down  in  the  east,  was  passing  by  a  slight 
gradation  into  a  rosy  yellow.  Nearer  to  the 
horizon,  were  a  few  clouds,  in  long  and  unequal 
masses,  rather  blue  than  brown,  their  lower 
edges  tinged  with  a  streak  of  fire,  that  every 
instant  became  more  lively  and  intense.  To 
the  south,  other  nebulous  masses  had  collected, 
light  and  fleeting,  and  were  beaming  with  a 
thousand  nameless  colors,  constituting  the  sky 
of  Lombardy,  so  beautiful  when  it  is  serene, 
so  splendid,  and  so  tranquil.  If  Renzo  had 
been  there  for  his  amusement,  he  would  cer- 
tainly have  looked  up,  and  admired  a  break  of 
day,  so  different  from  the  one  he  was  accustom- 
ed to  observe  in  his  own  mountains,  but  he 
saw  nothing  but  the  road,  which  he  was  rapid- 
ly moving  on,  both  to  get  warm  and  to  hasten 
his  journey.  He  passed  by  the  fields,  the 
ferns,  the  bushes,  went  through  the  wood,  look- 
ing around  him,  and  reflecting  with  a  sort  of 
compassion  for  himself  on  the  dread  it  had  in- 
spired him  with  a  few  hours  ago ;  at  length  he 
reached  the  brow  of  the  bank,  looked  down, 
and  through  the  bushes  saw  a  fisherman's 
bark,  advancing  slowly  against  the  current, 
and  skimming  past  the  shore.  Instantly  he 
rushed  down  the  bank  to  the  water  side,  called 
out  in  a  gentle  voice  to  the  fisherman,  and  as  if 
he  wanted  him  to  render  a  service  of  not  much 
importance,  with  a  sort  of  indifferent  half  sup- 
plicating gesture,  he  beckoned  him  to  ap- 

*  An  hour  before  day. 


112 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


proach.  The  fisherman  cast  a  look  along  the 
bank,  then  along  the  river,  and  turned  his  Dark 
to  the  shore  where  Ilenzo  was  standing.  As 
soon  as  it  reached  him,  where  he  was,  with 
his  foot  partly  in  the  water,  he  laid  hold  of  the 
bow  of  the  boat,  and  sprung  into  it. 

"  As  a  favor,  but  still  paying  for  it,"  said  he, 
"  I  should  like  to  pass  for  a  moment  on  the 
other  side."  The  fisherman  had  supposed  this 
to  be  the  case,  and  already  began  to  turn  the 
boat  in  that  direction,  and  Renzo  seeing  an- 
other oar  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  stooped 
down  and  laid  hold  of  it. 

"Gently,  gently,"  said  the  padrone,*  but 
observing  the  address  with  which  Renzo  was 
preparing  to  use  it,  added,  "  ah,  ah !  I  see  you 
belong  to  the  craft." 

"  A  little,"  replied  Renzo,  and  set  to  with 
a  vigor  and  skill  beyond  the  art  of  a  dilettante. 
And  pulling  with  all  his  might,  gave  a  dark 
look  to  the  shore  he  was  escaping  from :  then 
anxiously  turning  his  eyes  to  the  one  they 
were  making  for,  was  vexed  that  they  were 
obliged  to  reach  it  in  an  oblique  line,  for  the 
current  was  too  rapid  there  to  permit  them  to 
go  in  a  straight  one,  and  the  bark  partly  cut- 
ting and  partly  being  carried  by  the  stream, 
was  obliged  to  make  a  diagonal  course.  As 
it  happens  in  undertakings  somewhat  obscure 
and  confused,  that  the  difficulties  present  them- 
selves at  first  in  a  mass,  and  in  the  execution  ap- 
pear more  in  detail ;  Renzo,  now  that  the  Adda 
was  almost  crossed,  felt  some  inquietude  in 
his  uncertainty  whether  it  was  the  frontier  of 
the  Dutchy  of  Milan,  or  whether  this  obstacle 
once  surmounted,  another  was  not  to  succeed 
to  it.  Calling  out  therefore  to  the  fisherman, 
and  indicating  with  a  nod  the  white  spot  he 
had  observed  the  night  before,  and  which  now 
appeared  more  distinctly,  he  said,  "  Is  that 
place  Bergamo?" 

"  The  city  of  Bergamo,"  answered  the  fish- 
erman. 

"  And  is  this  the  Bergamasc  shore  ?" 
"  Saint  Mark's  land." 

"  Viva  San  Marco !  exclaimed  Renzo.  The 
fisherman  was  silent.  At  length  they  reached 
the  shore,  Renzo  jumped  out,  thanked  God  in 
his  heart,  and  then  returned  thanks  to  the  fish- 
erman, took  a  berlinga  from  his  pocket,  which 
all  things  considered,  was  depriving  himself  of 
no  small  sum,  and  gave  it  to  him.  The  man 
looked  at  the  Milanese  shore,  and  then  up  and 
down  the  river,  extended  his  hand,  took  the 
gift,  put  it  into  his  pocket,  compressed  his  lips, 
finished  by  making  a  cross  with  his  forefinger 
on  them,  and  then,  pushing  off  again,  said, 
with  a  very  significant  face,  "  a  good  journey 
to  you." 

That  the  reader  may  not  be  surprised  a1 
such  speedy  and  discreet  courtesy  towards  a 
stranger,  we  must  inform  him,  that  being  often 
asked  to  render  a  similar  service  to  rogues  anc 
bandits,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  crossing  them 


*  The  name  by  which  the  owners  of  these  smal 
craft  arc  called. 


iot  so  much  on  account  of  the  paltry  and  un- 
ertain  reward  he  got,  as  from  a  desire  not  to 
make  himself  enemies  in  that  class.    He  al- 
ways obliged  them  when  he  was  quite  sure  of 
iot  being  observed  by  the  customhouse  men, 
he  birri  and  men  on  the  watch.    Thus,  with- 
>ut  any  great  affection,  for  either  of  the  parties, 
ie  endeavored  to  satisfy  all,  with  that  kind  of 
mpartiality  to  which  a  man  accommodates 
limself,  who  is  obliged  to  have  dealings  with 
one  set  of  men,  and  to  render  an  account  to 
.nother. 
Renzo  stopped  a  few  moments  on  the  bank 

0  look  at  the  opposite  shore,  the  ground  that 

1  short  time  before  was  too  hot  to  keep  his  feet 
still  upon.    "  Ah  !  I  have  got  away  from  it  at 
ast !  was  his  first  thought,  remain  there  ac- 
cursed land ! — was  his  second  adieu  to  it :  but 

he  third  brought  to  his  recollection  who  he 
lad  left  in  it.  Crossing  his  arms  upon  his 
>reast,  and  sighing,  he  cast  his  eyes  upon  the 
water  which  was  running  at  his  feet,  and 
bought, — it  has  passed  under  the  bridge ! 
Thus,  after  the  manner  of  his  countrymen,  he 
spoke  of  that  of  Lecco.  Ah !  infamous  world 
— enough,  it  is  God's  will. 

Turning  his  back  upon  these  painful  scenes, 
le  commenced  his  journey,  keeping  in  view 
he  white  spot  on  the  slope  of  the  mountain, 
until  he  should  be  able  to  fall  into  a  direct  road 
:o  it.  He  accosted  passengers  now  with  an 
easy  air,  without  hesitation  and  without  stu- 
dying any  more  to  conceal  his  movements, 
mentioned  the  name  of  the  place  where  his 
cousin  dwelt,  with  a  view  to  find  the  way  to  it. 
The  first  person  from  whom  he  got  informa- 
tion respecting  it,  said  it  was  nine  miles  off. 

The  walk  was  not  a  cheerful  one.  Besides 
his  own  cares,  his  eyes  were  every  moment 
shocked  by  painful  objects,  which  convinced 
him  that  he  would  find  here  the  same  penury 
he  had  left  behind  in  his  own  country.  On 
the  road,  at  the  farms,  in  the  villages,  beggars 
abounded,  not  so  by  profession  but  become 
mendicants  by  necessity;  their  misery,  appear- 
ing more  in  their  countenances  than  in  their 
dress.  Countrymen,  mountaineers,  artisans, 
entire  families,  a  mingled  murmuring  of  sup- 
plications, of  quarreling  and  squalling  of  chil- 
dren. The  sight  of  so  much  misery,  besides 
the  compassion  it  awakened  in  his  heart, 
brought  him  to  reflect  upon  his  own  affairs. 

—  Who  knows — he  kept  meditating — what 
my  fortune  will  be  ?  Whether  I  shall  find  any 
work  to  do,  as  there  has  been  in  past  years  ? 
Well,  Bartolo  was  attached  to  me,  he  is  a  good 
fellow,  he  has  got  a  little  money  together,  he 
has  asked  me  to  come  so  often,  he  will  not 
abandon  me.  And  then,  Providence  has  fa- 
vored me  until  now,  and  will  continue  to  help 
me. 

In  the  meantime  his  appetite,  which  had 
been  tolerably  sharp  for  some  time,  kept  in- 
creasing as  he  went  on,  and  although  Renzo, 
when  he  first  began  to  think  about  it,  thought 
he  could  do  very  well  to  the  end  of  his  jour- 
ney .which  had  only  two  miles  to  be  completed, 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


113 


still  he  imagined  it  would  not  be  quite  so  we! 
to  present  himself  to  his  cousin  like  a  beggar 
and  his  first  salutation  be— give  me  something 
to  eat ;  so  he  took  all  his  wealth  from  hi: 
pocket,  and  counted  it  in  the  palm  of  his  hand 
it  needed  no  great  arithmetic,  but  still  then 
was  enough  to  make  a  little  repast ;  he,  there 
fore  stepped  into  an  inn,  and  naving  paid  fo: 
what  he  had  got,  found  he  had  a  few  sous  stil 
left. 

Going  out,  he  observed  lying  in  the  roac 
near  the  door,  and  he  was  very  near  treading 
upon  them,  two  women,  an  elderly  one,  am 
a  younger  one  with  an  infant,  which  after 
drawing  in  vain  at  her  breasts,  began  to  cry 
all  of  taem  were  of  the  color  of  death,  and  a: 
their  feet  laid  a  man,  in  whose  face  and  limbs 
the  indications  of  former  robustness  were  evi- 
dent, although  subdued  and  extinguished  by 
continued  want.  All  stretched  their  hands  to- 
wards him  as  he  stept  out  in  a  vigorous  and 
brisk  manner,  not  one  of  them  spoke ;  whal 
words  could  have  been  more  expressive  ? 

"  There,  Providence  sends  you  this ! "  said 
Renzo,  putting  his  hand  hastily  into  his  pocket, 
and  clearing  it  of  the  few  sous  he  had  left,  put 
them  into  the  hand  nearest  to  him,  and  went 
on. 

The  refreshment  he  had  taken,  and  the  good 
he  had  done,  (for  we  are  composed  both  of  soul 
and  body)  had  re-invigorated  and  given  fresh 
courage  to  his  mind.  Certainly,  the  act  of 
giving  away  his  last  penny,  had  inspired  him 
with  more  confidence  for  the  future,  than  the 
finding  of  ten  times  the  amount  would  have 
done ;  for  if  Providence  in  order  to  sustain 
during  that  day,  those  unfortunate  creatures, 
whom  he  had  only  just  chanced  to  see,  had 
kept  in  reserve  the  last  resources  of  a  stranger, 
a  fugitive,  far  from  his  home,  uncertain  even 
himself  about  his  future  existence ;  how  was  it 
possible  to  suppose  it  would  abandon  the  in- 
strument it  had  made  use  of,  and  whom  it  had 
endowed  with  a  feeling  at  once  so  lively,  so 
efficacious,  and  so  free  from  selfish  considera- 
tions ?  This  was  the  predominating  thought  in 
the  youth's  mind.  During  the  remainder  of 
the  road,  revolving  in  his  mind  what  had  occur- 
red, every  thing  appeared  in  a  more  favorable 
aspect  to  him.  This  dearth  and  misery  must 
have  an  end,  and  harvests  come  round  every 
year;  in  the  meantime  he  had  his  cousin  Bar- 
tplo  and  his  own  ability ;  he  had  at  home  too  a 
little  store  of  ready  money,  which  he  would 
soon  send  for.  With  that  at  the  worst,  he  could 
live  from  day  to  day,  in  an  economical  way, 
until  times  were  better.  Prosperous  times  be- 
fore us  once  more — pursued  Renzo  in  his  ima- 
gination— there  will  be  a  press  of  work  again, 
the  employers  will  be  struggling  to  get  Milan- 
ese workmen,  because  they  are  best  acquaint- 
ed with  the  business :  then  we  shall  hold  up 
our  heads  again ;  they  that  want  good  work- 
men, will  have  to  give  good  wages,  one  may 
livelhen,  and  put  by  a  little  too  ;  a  little  cot- 
tage may  be  furnished,  and  the  women  writ- 
ten to,  to  come  on — but  why  wait  so  long? 
15 


With  that  little  store  of  money  I  should  have 
had  to  keep  us  this  winter  there,  and  why  can't 
we  live  with  it  here.  There's  no  want  of  cu- 
rates any  where.  When  the  two  dear  females 
come,  and  we  get  into  a  house,  what  a  plea- 
sure to  stroll  about  here  all  together ;  to  ride 
as  far  as  the  Adda  and  make  our  repast  upon 
its  bank,  precisely  on  the  bank,  and  point  out 
to  them  the  place  where  I  got  into  the  bark, 
the  thorn  bushes  I  had  to  g  t  through,  and  the 
place  I  looked  out  to  see  if  there  was  a  boat. 

At  length  he  reached  the  place  where  his 
cousin  dwelt :  before  he  entered  it,  he  per- 
ceived a  lofty  building  with  several  rows  of 
windows  one  above  the  other,  with  a  smaller 
space  between  them  than  is  usually  appropri- 
ated to  the  stories  of  a  house  ;  this  must  be 
the  filature — he  enters,  and  amidst  the  noise  of 
the  water  and  the  wheels,  asks  in  a  loud  voice, 
if  Bartolo  Castagneri  was  there. 
"  Signor  Bartolo  !  There  he  is  !" 
—  Signor !  thought  Renzo,  that  is  a  good 
sign!  and  seeing  his  cousin,  he  ran  to  Him. 
Bartolo  turning  round,  recognized  Renzo,  who 
exclaimed,  "  Here  I  am  !"  His  cousin  uttered 
a  cry  of  surprise,  and  raising  their  arms,  they 
mutually  embraced.  After  the  first  welcomes, 
Bartolo  drew  the  youth  away  from  the  noise 
of  the  machinery,  and  from  the  inquisitive  eyes 
of  the  rest,  into  a  room,  and  said  to  him,  "  I 
am  glad  to  see  thee,  but  tliou  are  a  pretty  sort 
of  young  fellow.  How  many  times  I  asked 
thee  to  come,  and  thou  hast  always  refused, 
and  now  thou  comest  at  a  moment  when  things 
are  not  quite  as  I  should  wish  them." 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  you  ?  The  fact  is,  I 
am  not  come  now  of  my  own  will,"  said  Ren- 
zo, and  in  a  brief  manner,  but  not  without  emo- 
tion, narrated  his  sorrowful  history. 

This  will  make  another  pair  of  sleeves," 
said  Bartolo.  "  Poor  Renzo !  But  thou  hast 
relied  on  me,  and  I  will  not  abandon  thee.  It 
is  true,  there  is  no  demand  for  workmen,  in- 
deed every  establishment  has  enough  to  do  to 
Iceep  its  own,  barely  to  keep  the  work  a  going. 
But  the  proprietor  likes  me,  and  is  very  well 
off,  and  to  tell  the  truth,  without  boasting,  he 
owes  a  good  deal  of  what  he  has  to  me.  He 
5nds  the  capital,  and  I  contribute  my  little 
ability.  I  am  the  foreman,  dost  thou  know  ? 
and  in  fact  to  tell  thee  the  truth,  I  am  the  fac- 
otum.  Poor  Lucia  Mondella!  I  remember 
ler,  as  if  it  was  only  yesterday  ;  a  good  lass  .' 
always  the  best  behaved  at  church,  and  when 
'  used  to  pass  by  her  cottage — I  see  it  now, 
hat  cottage,  at  the  end  of  the  village,  with 

hat  fine  fig  tree  that  hung  over  the  wall " 

"  No,  no,  say  no  more  about  it." 
"  I  was  going  to  say  that  when  one  passed 
y  that  cottage,  one  always  heard  that  reel  go- 
ag,  going,  going.    And  that  Don  Rodrigo! 
ven  in  my  time  he  had  begun  his  tricks,  but 
tie  devil  has  got  astride  of  him  now,  as  far  as 
see,  and  he'll  ride  on  as  long  as  God  leaves 
tie  bridle  on  his  neck.    And  as  I  was  telling 
bee,  we  feel  what  want  is,  here  too  a  little— 
and  by  the  by  how  is  your  appetite .'" 


114 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


"  I  ate  a  little  on  the  road." 

"  And  how  art  thou  off  for  money  ?" 

Renzo  opened  one  of  his  hands,  put  the  end 
of  his  palm  near  his  mouth,  and  blew  gently 
along  it. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Bartolo,  "I  have  some, 
keep  up  thy  spirits,  things  will  change  soon 
if  God  pleases,  and  then  thou  can'st  return 
it  to  me,  and  have  some  to  spare  for  thyself 
too." 

"  I  have  some  small  savings  at  home,  and  I 
will  send  for  them." 

"That's  all  right;  in  the  meantime  thou 
mayst  depend  upon  me.  God  has  been  good 
to  me,  that  I  may  do  good  with  it,  and  if  I  do 
not  do  it  to  relatives  and  friends,  who  shall  I 
do  it  to?" 

^This  is  what  I  said  of  Providence  !"  ex- 
claimed Renzo,  affectionately  pressing  the  hand 
of  his  good  cousin. 

"  So  then,"  said  Bartolo,  "  there  has  been  a 
great  uproar  in  Milan ;  they  seem  to  me  to 
be  a  little  crazy ;  we  have  heard  some  little 
about  it,  but  thou  shall 't  tell  it  to  me  more  mi- 
nutely. We  have  a  good  deal  to  talk  about. 
In  these  parts,  you  see,  things  go  on  more 
quietly,  and  are  managed  with  more  judgment. 
The  city  has  purchased  two  thousands  loads 
of  wheat  from  a  merchant  at  Venice,  wheat 
that  comes  from  Turkey  to  be  sure,  but  when 
eating's  in  the  question,  one  does  not  look  so 
nicely  as  to  where  things  come  from.  Now 
just  see  what  took  place ;  it  so  turned  out 
that  the  magistrates  of  Verona  and  Brescia 
shut  the  passes,  and  said,  No  wheat  shall  pass 
by  this  road.  Well,  what  do  the  Bergamascs  ? 
They  despatch  a  man  to  Venice  that  knows 
how  to  talk.  Away  he  goes  in  haste,  presents 
himself  to  the  Doge,  and  tells  him  what  a  fine 

Eiece  of  business  this  is.  But  such  a  speech 
e  made  him,  a  speech  they  say,  just  such  as 
should  be  printed.  What  a  thing  it  is  to  have 
a  man  that  knows  how  to  talk !  Directly  comes 
an  order  out  to  let  the  wheat  pass,  and  the  ma- 
gistrates are  not  only  obliged  to  let  it  pass,  but 
are  forced  to  furnish  an  escort,  and  it  is  coming 
on.  And  care  has  been  taken  of  the  district 
too.  Another  clever  man  has  made  the  Senate 
understand  that  the  people  here  were  starving, 
and  the  Senate  has  granted  them  four  thousand 
bushels  of  millet.  This  will  help  to  make 
bread.  And  then,  need  I  say  it  to  thee  ?  If 
there's  no  bread,  we  can  eat  meat  and  other 
things.  God  has  been  good  to  me,  as  I  have 
told  thee.  Now  I  will  take  thee  to  my  em- 
ployer, I  have  spoken  of  thee,  to  him,  often, 
and  he  will  receive  thee  well.  A  good  Ber- 
gamascon,  after  the  old  fashion,  a  man  with 
plenty  of  room  in  his  heart.  It  is  true  he  did 
not  expect  thee  now,  but  when  he  hears  thy 
story — and  then  he  knows  how  to  set  a  value 
on  workmen,  for  the  famine  will  pass  away, 
but  business  will  go  on.  But  first  of  all,  I 
must  tell  thee  of  one  thing.  Dost  thou  know 
what  name  the  people  of  this  country  give  to 
us,  who  come  from  the  State  of  Milan  ?" 
"  What  do  they  call  us  ?" 


"They  call  us  numskulls  !"* 

"  A  pretty  name  to  be  sure." 

"  So  it  is,  that  whoever  is  born  in  the  Mi- 
lanese, and  wants  to  live  amongst  the  Berga- 
mascs, will  have  to  put  up  with  it.  These 
people  call  a  Milanese  numskull,  just  as  com- 
monly as  a  cavalier  is  called  illustrissimo." 

"  I  suppose  they  call  them  so  that  consent 
to  be  called  so." 

"  My  son,  if  thou  art  not  disposed  to  be  call- 
ed numskull  every  minute,  oont  lay  thy  ac- 
count with  living  here.  Would'st  thou  always 
be  putting  thy  hand  to  thy  knife  ?  And  when, 
for  example,  thou  hadst  killed  two,  three,  four, 
the  rest  would  come  and  kill  thee,  and  then, 
what  a  fine  thing  to  appear  before  God  with 
three  or  four  homicides  to  account  for !" 

"  But  a  Milanese  who  has  a  little — "  and 
here  he  tapped  his  forehead  with  his  finger,  as 
he  had  done  at  the  inn,  at  the  sign  of  the  full 
moon,  "  I  mean  to  say,  a  man  who  knows 
what  he  is  about?" 

"  It's  all  the  same,  he  is  called  numskull 
too.  Dost  thou  want  to  hear  how  my  employ- 
er speaks  of  me,  when  he  is  talking  about  me 
to  his  friends  ?  '  That  numskull  has  been  a  gift 
from  heaven  in  my  business,  if  I  had  not  that 
numskull  to  help  me,  I  should  have  trouble 
enough.'  It  is  the  custom." 

"  It  is  a  very  ridiculous  custom.  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  seeing  what  we  know  how  to  do, 
that  we  are  the  people  who  have  brought  this 
art  amongst  them,  and  are  the  men  who  make 
it  prosper,  that  they  won't  correct  them- 
selves ? " 

"They  have'nt  done  it  yet;  time  may  cor- 
rect it  with  the  boys  that  are  growing  up,  but 
for  the  men  there  is  no  remedy,  they  nave  got 
the  habit,  and  they  will  never  put  it  off.  And 
what  after  all  does  it  come  to  ?  The  pretty 
tricks  that  they  have  been  playing  you  were  a 
little  worse  than  this,  to  say  nothing  of  what 
our  dear  fellow-countrymen  have  been  want- 
ing to  do  thee." 

"That's  very  true,  and  if  there's  nothing 
worse  here — " 

"Now  thou  art  persuaded  of  this,  every 
thing  will  go  well.  Come,  to  the  proprietor, 
and  take  courage." 

Every  thing,  in  fact,  went  very  well,  and 
justified  the  promises  of  Bartolo  so  thorough- 
ly, that  we  think  it  unnecessary  to  enter  into 
any  details  about  it.  Providence  had  really 
interfered,  for  we  shall  see  by  and  by  what 
foundation  there  was  for  placing  any  reliance 
on  the  savings  that  Renzo  had  left  behind  him 
in  his  house. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THAT  same  day,  the  13th  of  November,  an 
express  arrived  to  the  podesta  of  Lecco,  pre- 


1  Baggiani. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


115 


renting  a  despatch  from  the  capitano  di  justizia, 
•containing  an  order  to  use  every  possible  and 
opportune  inquisition,  to  discover  whether  a 
certain  youth  named  Lorenzo  Tramaglino,  a 
silk  spinner,  who  had  escaped  from  the  custo- 
dy preedicti  egregii  domini  capitanei  had  return- 
ed, pedant  vel  clam,  to  his  home,  ignotum  verum 
in  territoria  Leuci ;  quod  si  compertumfuerit  sic 
esse,  the  podesta  must  use  diligence — quanta 
maxima  dUigentia  fieri  poterit,  to  ai-rest  him ; 
and  securely  binding  him,  videlicet,  with  good 
fetters,  in  consequence  of  the  insufficiency  of 
hand-cuffs  for  the  aforesaid  subject,  should 
cause  him  to  be  conducted  to  prison,  and  there 
kept  under  good  custody,  to  be  delivered  to 
whomsoever  should  be  sent  to  receive  him ; 
and  whether  the  matter  was  so,  or  was  not  so, 
accedatis  ad  domum  prcRdidi  Laurentii  Trama- 
Kini,  et  facto,  debita  diligentia,  quidquid  ad 
rem  repertumjuerit  auferatis ;  et  informationes 
de  illius  pava  qualitate,  vita,  et  complicibus 
sumatis,  and  of  all  matters,  said  and  done, 
found  or  not  found,  taken  or  left  behind, 
diligenter  referatis.  The  podesta,  having  got 
it  properly  certified  that  the  subject  was  not 
returned  to  his  village,  caused  the  consul  of 
the  village  to  come  to  him,  and  conducted  by 
him,  and  with  a  great  train  of  notaries  and 
birri,  went  to  the  indicated  house.  It  was 
locked,  and  no  one  was  to  be  found  who  had 
the  key,  or  who  would  acknowledge  he  had 
it.  The  lock  therefore  was  broke,  and  all  due 
diligence  used,  meaning  thereby,  that  they 
proceeded  as  when  a  city  is  taken  by  assault. 
The  fame  of  this  expedition  flew  immediately 
through  the  district,  and  reached  the  ears  of 
father  Christopher,  who,  not  less  astonished 
than  afflicted,  asked  various  persons  for  in- 
formation about  the  cause  of  so  unexpected  an 
incident,  but  he  got  nothing  but  conjectures 
and  contradictory  reports,  and  immediately 
wrote  to  father  Buenaventura,  certain  of  re- 
ceiving from  him  more  precise  intelligence.  In 
the  meantime  the  relations  and  friends  of 
Renzo  were  cited  to  depose  what  they  knew 
of  his  depraved  qualities ;  the  name  of  Tra- 
maglino became  a  misfortune,  a  scandal,  a 
crime.  The  village  was  all  in  confusion. 
Little  by  little  it  was  found  out  that  Renzo 
had  escaped  from  the  hands  of  justice,  in  the 
midst  of  the  city  of  Milan,  and  that  he  had 
disappeared.  It  was  whispered  about  that  he 
had  done  something  very  bad,  what  it  was  was 
not  stated,  or  rather  it  was  told  in  a  hundred 
ways.  The  worse  it  became,  the  less  it  was 
believed  wherever  Renzo  was  known  to  be  a 
good  moral  ycuth.  The  greater  part  of  the 
people,  whispered  into  each  others  ears,  that 
all  this  was  part  of  the  machinery  moved  by 
that  overbearing  Don  Rodrigo,  just  to  ruin  his 
poor  rival.  So  true  it  is,  that  induction 
sometimes,  without  a  proper  knowledge  of 
facts,  makes  us  wrong  even  scoundrels. 

But  we,  with  the  facts  in  our  hand,  can 
safely  affirm,  that  if  he  had  no  direct  influ- 
ence in  bringing  about  Renzo's  misfortune,  it 
was  as  agreeable  to  him  as  if  it  had  been  his 


own  doings,  and  he  rejoiced  at  it,  with  his 
confidants,  and  principally  with  Count  Attilio. 
This  gentleman,  according  to  his  first  inten- 
tions, ought  to  have  been  at  that  time  in  Mi- 
lan, but  at  the  first  news  of  the  tumult  that 
had  arisen,  and  of  the  mob  that  had  got  toge- 
ther— in  any  other  attitude  than  that  of  stand- 
ing to  get  a  drubbing — he  had  thought  it  best 
to  delay  his  return  a  little,  until  more  favora- 
ble news  should  arrive.  And  the  more,  because 
having  given  offence  to  many,  he  had  some 
reason  to  fear  that  some  of  them  who  were 
silent  only  on  account  of  their  want  of  power, 
might  feel  encouraged  in  the  present  circum- 
stances, to  avail  themselves  of  so  favorable  a 
moment  to  revenge  the  wrongs  of  all.  But 
this  did  not  last  long ;  the  order  received  from 
Milan  for  the  execution  of  the  proceeding 
against  Renzo,  was  an  indication  that  matters 
there  were  returned  to  their  old  state,  and  the 
direct  news  which  they  got  almost  at  the  same 
moment,  made  it  certain.  Count  Attilio  de- 
parted immediately,  encouraging  his  cousin 
to  persist  in  his  enterprize,  and  promising  that 
on  his  part  he  would  immediately  exert  him- 
self to  rid  him  of  the  friar,  on  whom  the  for- 
tunate accident  that  had  happened  to  his 
clownish  rival,  would  prove  an  admirable  card 
to  play.  Scarce  was  Attilio  gone,  when  Griso 
arrived  from  Monza,  safe  and  sound,  and  com- 
municated to  his  master  what  he  had  discover- 
ed :  that  Lucia  had  taken  refuge  in  a  monaste- 
ry under  the  protection  of  a  certain  signora, 
and  was  shut  up  there,  just  as  if  she  was  a 
nun  herself,  never  stepping  over  the  threshold, 
and  even  assisting  at  the  church  service, 
through  a  grated  window :  a  circumstance 
very  displeasing  to  many,  who  having  heard 
something  about  her  adventures,  and  extrava- 
gant things  said  of  her  beauty,  wanted  to  see 
for  once  what  sort  of  a  person  she  was. 

This  relation  made  Don  Rodrigo  really  feel 
as  if  the  devil  had  got  astride  of  him,  or  to 
come  nearer  to  it,  made  the  one  he  had  inside 
of  him  worse  than  ever.  All  the  favorable  cir- 
cumstances hitherto,  inflamed  his  passions  still 
more ;  that  mixture  of  punctilio,  rage,  and  in- 
famous desire,  ot  which  his  passion  was  com- 
posed. Renzo  was  absent,  driven  away,  out- 
lawed, so  that  every  thing  became  lawful 
against  him,  and  even  his  promised  bride 
might  be  considered  as  enemy's  property : 
then  the  only  man  in  the  world  who  was  wil- 
ling and  able  to  make  the  affair  his  own,  and 
make  a  noise  about  it  that  would  be  heard 
through  the  country,  the  enraged  friar,  would 
probably  in  a  short  time  be  also  removed  from 
the  possibility  of  doing  any  harm.  And  now 
a  new  impediment  occurred,  not  to  counter- 
balance those  facilities,  but  to  render  them 
useless.  A  Monza  Monastery,  when  even  there 
had  been  no  princess  in  the  case,  was  too  hard 
a  bone  for  the  teeth  even  of  a  Don  Rodrigo ;  in 
vain  he  exercised  his  imagination  about  that 
asylum,  he  could  neither  form  a  plan  for  vio- 
lating it  by  force  or  by  treachery.  He  was 
almost  ready  to  give  up  the  enterprise,  and 


116 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


to  co  to  Milan,  avoiding  Monza  on  the  way, 
and  to  seek  amongst  his  friends,  and  amidst 
the  amusements  of  the  place,  to  dissipate  the 
feelings  which  now  tormented  him.  But — 
his  friends, — gently — about  these  friends ;  in- 
stead of  dissipating  those  feelings,  he  might 
find  in  their  society  new  sources  of  vexation  ; 
those  feelings  might  be  roused  still  more,  for 
Attilio  undoubtedly  had  sounded  the  trumpet, 
and  put  them  all  in  a  state  of  expectation. 
Every  one  would  be  asking  him  about  the  fair 
mountaineer,  and  he  must  have  an  answer  to 
give.  Had  he  determined,  had  he  attempted, 
what  had  he  obtained?  He  had  undertaken 
an  affair,  rather  an  ignoble  one  it  is  true  ;  but, 
then,  one  can't  always  regulate  one's  own  ca- 
prices— the  real  business  is  to  gratify  them. 
And  then  how  had  he  succeeded?  How? 
Why  shamed  and  disgraced  by  a  country  fel- 
low and  a  friar !  That  would  never  do !  And 
when  an  unexpected  piece  of  good  luck  had 
removed  one  out  of  the  way,  and  a  clever 
friend  the  other,  without  any  trouble  on  his 
part,  he  was  so  simple  as  not  to  know  how  to 
profit  by  the  conjuncture,  and  had  cowardly 
withdrawn  from  the  enterprize.  It  was  enough 
to  prevent  his  ever  showing  his  face  again 
amongst  gentlemen,  or  to  oblige  him  to  keep 
his  hand  always  on  his  hilt.  And  then,  how 
could  he  ever  return  to,  or  how  could  he  remain 
at,  his  villa,  in  a  neighborhood  where,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  incessant  and  irritating  remem- 
brances of  his  passion,  he  would  have  to  bear 
the  dishonor  of  having  failed  in  an  enterprise  ? 
Where  he  should  both  have  increased  the  pub- 
lic hatred,  and  diminished  the  idea  of  his  pow- 
er? Where  he  could  read  in  the  face  of  every 
low  fellow,  even  whilst  he  was  bowing,  the 
bitter — you  have  had  to  swallow  that,  I  am 
glad  of  it. — The  path  of  iniquity,  says  the 
manuscript  here,  is  broad,  but  that  is  not  the 
same  thing  as  being  comfortable;  it  has  its 
own  difficulties  and  troubles,  and  is  wearisome 
and  fatiguing,  although  it  is  all  down  hill. 

To  Don  Rodrigo,  who  would  not  leave  it, 
nor  tread  back  his  steps,  nor  stop,  and  who 
could  not  advance  by  himself  alone,  a  mode 
occurred  by  which  he  might  succeed,  and  it 
was  to  select  for  his  assistant,  a  man  whose 
hands  frequently  reached  what  others  could 
not  even  get  a  sight  of.  A  man  or  a  devil,  for 
whom  the  difficulty  of  undertakings  was  fre- 
quently the  stimulus  which  induced  him  to 
enter  upon  them.  But  this  plan  had  its  incon- 
veniences and  its  dangers,  the  more  weighty, 
because  it  was  not  easy  to  make  an  accurate 
calculation  how  far  the  thing  might  be  carried  ; 
for  no  one  could  venture  to  anticipate  to  what 
lengths  that  man  would  go,  when  once  he  was 
embarked  in  a  project ;  he  was  a  most  potent 
auxiliary,  but  a  most  absolute  and  dangerous 
leader. 

These  thoughts  kept  Don  Rodrigo  several 
days,  betwixt  yes  and  no,  each  of  them  more 
than  distressing.  In  the  mean  time  a  letter 
arrived  from  his  cousin,  informing  him  that  the 
plan  had  been  started.  Soon  after  the  light- 


ning, the  thunder  burst;  that  is  to  say,  one 
morning  he  received  information  that  father 
Christopher  had  left  the  convent  of  Pescareni- 
co.  This  prompt  and  complete  success,  and 
Attilio's  letter,  which  was  full  of  encourage- 
ment, and  threats  of  being  laughed  at  if  he  aid 
not  pursue  the  matter,  inclined  Don  Rodrigo 
more  than  ever  to  risk  every  thing ;  and  what 
gave  the  decisive  blow  was  the  unexpected 
news  that  Agnes  was  returned  home,  an  im- 
pediment the  less  in  relation  to  Lucia.  We 
must  give  an  account  of  these  two  events,  be- 
ginning with  the  last. 

The  two  poor  women  had  scarce  got  settled  in 
their  asylum,  when  the  news  of  the  great  uproar 
at  Milan  reached  Monza,  and  ot  course  the 
monastery ;  accompanied  with  an  infinite  se- 
ries of  particulars,  which  kept  increasing 
and  varying  at  every  instant.  The  fattora, 
who  communicated  with  both  the  town  and 
the  monastery,  had  news  of  course  from  both, 
heard  every  thing  that  was  said,  and  told  it  to 
the  guests.  "Two,  six,  eight,  four,  seven, 
they  nave  put  in  prison — these  will  he  hanged 
— part  of  them  betore  the  bakery  of  the  Grucce, 
part  of  them  at  the  head  of  the  street  where  the 
vicar  of  provisions  lives.  And  hear  this  !  an- 
other that  belongs  to  Lecco  or  thereabouts  has 
escaped.  I  don't  know  his  name,  but  I  will 
get  some  one  who  comes  here,  to  tell  me,  to 
see  if  you  know  it." 

This  news,  with  the  circumstance  of  Renzo 
going  to  Milan  exactly  on  that  fatal  day,  made 
the  women  unquiet,  and  especially  Lucia,  but 
how  was  h,  when  the  fattora  afterwards  told 
them,  "  he  is  from  your  place,  the  man  that  has 
run  off  to  avoid  being  hanged,  a  silk  spinner, 
who  is  called  Tramaghno,  do  you  know  him  ?" 

Lucia  was  sitting  hemming  some  work,  it 
dropped  from  her  hand ;  she  turned  pale,  her 
countenance  fell,  so  that  the  fattora  must  have 
perceived  it,  if  she  had  been  nigh  to  her.  Ag- 
nes was  also  disturbed,  but  not  so  much  but 
that  she  could  keep  her  countenance,  and  with 
some  effort  answered  that  in  a  small  place 
every  body  was  known,  that  she  knew  him,  and 
could  hardly  believe  that  such  a  thing  had  hap- 
pened to  him,  as  he  was  a  very  quiet  young 
man.  She  then  asked  if  he  had  certainly  es- 
caped, and  where  to. 

"  Every  body  says  he  has  escaped,  but 
where  to  nobody  knows,  they  may  be  able  to 
catch  him  yet,  and  he  may  get  off,  but  if 
they  once  get  him,  that  quiet  young  man  of 
yours — " 

Fortunately  the  fattora  was  called  away 
here,  leaving  mother  and  daughter  in  great 
distress.  More  than  one  clay  the  poor  woman 
and  the  desolate  girl  had  to  remain  in  this  state 
of  doubt,  imagining  all  sorts  of  causes  and  rea- 
sons, and  the  consequences  of  a  fact  so  painful ; 
and  in  commenting,  each  to  herself,  or  in  an 
under  tone  of  voice  together,  whenever  they 
had  an  opportunity,  upon  those  terrible  words. 

At  length,  one  Thursday,*  a  man  came  to 

*  Friday  is  a  day  when  no  meat  but  fish  is  eaten. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


117 


the  monastery  to  ask  for  Agnes.  He  was  a 
fishmonger  01  Pescarenico,  who  was  going  to 
Milan  according  to  hi3  custom,  to  sell  his  fish ; 
and  the  good  friar  Christopher  had  asked  him 
in  passing  by  Monza,  to  call  at  the  monastery, 
and  salute  the  women  in  his  name ;  requesting 
him  to  inform  them  of  all  he  knew  about  the 
sad  case  of  Renzo,  to  encourage  them  to  have 
patience  and  to  confide  in  God,  and  that  he,  a 
poor  friar,  would  certainly  not  forget  them,  and 
would  vigilantly  watch  for  every  opportunity 
to  be  useful  to  them ;  in  the  meantime  he 
would  not  fail  every  week  to  send  them  some 
information  by  the  same  means,  or  by  a  similar 
opportunity.  Respecting  Renzo,  the  man 
could  give  them  no  positive  account,  further 
than  the  proceedings  put  in  execution  respect- 
ing his  house,  and  the  search  made  after  him  ; 
but  all  the  trouble  they  had  taken  had  been  in 
vain,  for  they  had  good  intelligence  that  he  had 
got  to  Bergamo.  The  certainty  of  this,  it  need 
not  be  said,  was  a  great  balm  to  the  distress  of 
Lucia ;  from  that  moment  her  tears  ran  more 
easily  and  gently,  she  received  more  comfort 
from  her  secret  conversations  with  her  mo- 
ther, and  henceforwards  thaaks  were  mingled 
with  all  her  prayers. 

Gertrude  frequently  made  her  come  into  a 
private  parlor,  and  occasionally  detained  her 
a  long  time,  taking  pleasure  in  the  ingenuous- 
ness and  gentleness  of  the  poor  girl,  and  in  re- 
ceiving at  times  her  thanks  and  blessings.  She 
told  her  also,  in  confidence,  a  part  (the  fair 
part)  of  her  story,  what  she  had  suffered,  in 
order  to  come  there  to  suffer,  so  that  the  first 
wonder  and  doubt  of  Lucia  were  changed  to 
pity.  She  found  in  her  story  more  than  suffi- 
cient to  explain  whatever  had  appeared  strange 
in  the  conduct  of  her  benefactress,  not  forget- 
ting either  what  Agnes  had  said  about  gentle- 
folks being  a  little  cracked.  Nevertheless, 
however  she  might  feel  disposed  to  return  the 
confidence  Gertrude  had  reposed  in  her,  she 
was  careful  not  to  speak  of  her  new  apprehen- 
sions, of  her  new  misfortune,  of  what  that  silk 
spinner  was  to  her,  that  she  might  run  no  risk 
of  spreading  a  story  so  full  of  distress  and 
scandal.  She  avoided  also,  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, giving  any  reply  to  the  curious  ques- 
tions that  were  put  to  her,  respecting  her  story 
before  she  had  become  betrothed,  but  her  rea- 
sons for  this  were  not  prudential  ones.  It  was 
because  that  part  of  her  own  story  appeared  to 
the  poor  innocent  girl  more  difficult  to  relate 
than  any  thing  she  had  yet  heard,  or  that  she 
thought  she  ever  should  hear  from  the  signora; 
she  nad  heard  of  oppression,  of  plots,  of  suf- 
ferings, all  painful  and  disagreeable  things,  but 
still  they  were  things  that  could  he  spoken  of. 
In  her  own  simple  story,  there  prevailed 
throughout  a  feeling,  to  be  expressed  only  by 
a  word  it  did  not  appear  possible  for  her  to  ut- 
ter whilst  speaking  of  herself,  and  for  which 
no  paraphrase  could  be  substituted  which 
would  not  wound  her  modesty — it  was  love. 

At  such  times  Gertrude  was  tempted  to  be 
displeased  at  these  repulses,  but  she  was  so 


affectionate,  so  respectful,  so  grateful,  and 
showed  so  much  reliance  on  her!  At  times, 
perhaps,  that  modesfy,  so  delicate,  so  tender, 
so  fearful,  displeased  her  still  more  on  another 
account,  but  such  feelings  disappeared  in  the 
suavity  of  the  thought  which  recurred  to  ner 
whenever  she  contemplated  Lucia — she  is  the 
object  of  my  benevolence.  And  it  was  true,  be- 
cause, besides  the  asylum,  those  conversations, 
and  those  familiar  caresses  were  a  source 
of  much  comfort  to  Lucia.  She  found  also 
another  in  constant  occupation,  and  was  always 
asking  them  to  give  her  something  to  do,  even 
in  the  parlor  she  always  carried  something  or 
other  to  keep  her  hands  in  exercise.  But  how 
sorrowful  thoughts  will  intrude  themselves 
every  where !  even  whilst  she  was  engaged 
in  sewing,  which  before  this  she  had  never 
paid  much  attention  to,  every  now  and  then 
her  reel  would  come  to  her  mind,  and  with 
the  reel  how  many  other  things. 

The  second  Thursday  they  got  another 
message  from  father  Christopher,  confirming 
the  escape  of  Renzo,  but  no  accurate  informa- 
tion respecting  his  misadventure,  because  as 
has  already  been  stated,  the  capuchin  had  ex- 
pected it  from  his  brother  friar  at  Milan,  to 
whom  he  had  recommended  him,  and  he  wrote 
that  he  had  neither  seen  him  nor  received 
any  letter  by  him ;  that  a  country  man  had  in- 
deed come  to  the  convent  to  ask  for  him,  but 
not  having  found  him  at  home,  had  gone  away, 
and  had  riot  returned. 

The  third  Thursday,  no  message  arrived, 
which  not  only  deprived  the  women  of  the 
comfort  they  so  much  wished  and  looked  for, 
but  as  it  happens  in  every  little  thing  to  those 
who  are  afflicted  and  in  trouble,  was  the  cause 
of  much  inquietude,  and  of  a  hundred  dis 
tressing  doubts.  Before  this,  Agnes  had  been 
thinking  of  paying  a  visit  to  her  cottage,  and. 
this  novelty  of  receiving  no  message,  de- 
termined her  to  do  so.  It  was  something 
strange  for  Lucia  to  remain  behind,  separated 
from  the  mother  in  whom  she  had  always  con- 
fided, but  the  extreme  desire  to  learn  some- 
thing, and  the  security  she  enjoyed  in  an  asy- 
lum so  sacred  and  so  protected,  conquered  her 
repugnance.  It  was  therefore  determined  be- 
tween them,  that  Agnes,  or.  the  following  day, 
should  await  the  fisherman  in  the  road  on  hi? 
return  from  Milan,  and  should  ask  of  him  the 
favor  of  taking  her  in  his  cart  as  far  as  her  na- 
tive mountains.  Having  met  him,  and  asked 
if  father  Christopher  had  delivered  him  no 
embassy  for  her,  he  stated  that  he  had  re- 
mained fishing  the  whole  of  the  day  preceding 
his  departure,  and  that  he  had  received  no 
message  whatever  from  the  friar.  He  consent- 
ed to  conduct  her  without  entreaty,  she  there- 
fore took  leave  of  the  Lady  and  of  her  daugh- 
ter, not  without  tears,  promising  to  send  some 
information  immediately  and  to  return  soon, 
and  then  departed. 

No  accident  happened  to  them  on  the  jour- 
ney, they  rested  part  of  the  night  in  an  inn 
I  upon  the  road,  according  to  custom,  resumed 


113 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


their  journey  before  day,  and  arrived  early  in 
the  morning  at  Pescarenico.  Agnes  alighted 
at  the  convent,  took  leave  of  her  conductor 
with  many  thanks,  and  since  she  was  there, 
wished  to  see  her  benefactor,  the  good  friar, 
before  she  went  to  her  house.  She  rang  the 
convent  bell,  and  Friar  Galdino,  he  who  made 
the  perquisition  of  nuts,  opened  the  door. 

"  Oh,  my  good  woman,  what  wind  has 
brought  you  here  ?" 

"I  want  to  see  father  Christopher!" 

"  Father  Christopher  ?  he  is  not  here." 

"  Will  it  be  long  before  he  comes  ?" 

"  Why — !"  said  the  friar,  shrugging  up  his 
shoulders,  and  burying  his  bald  head  in  his 
cowl. 

"  Where  is  he  gone  ?" 

"To  Rimini." 

«  To—?" 

"  To  Rimini." 

"  Where  is  that  place  ?" 

"Ay,  ay,  ay,"  answered  the  friar,  and  cutting 
the  air  vertically  with  his  open  hand,  he  sig- 
nified the  distance  was  great. 

"Oh,  me;  oh,  me!  But  what  is  he  gone 
away  so  suddenly  for?" 

"Because  the  provincial  father  wished  him 
to  go." 

"  And  what  did  they  send  him  away  for, 
who  did  so  much  good  here  ?  Oh,  poor  me  !" 

"If  our  superiors  were  obliged  to  give 
reasons  for  all  the  orders  they  give,  what 
would  become  of  obedience,  my  good  wo- 
man ?" 

"  Yes,  but  this  will  ruin  me." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  the  reason  is.  They  have 
no  doubt  been  in  want  at  Rimini  of  a  good 
preacher  (we  have  them  every  where,  but 
sometimes  the  man  is  wanted  that  seems  made 
on  purpose).  The  father  provincial  there  has 
written  no  doubt  to  the  father  provincial  here, 
to  know  if  he  had  such  and  such  a  man; 
and  our  father  provincial,  will  have  said — father 
Christopher  is  precisely  the  man — and  so  it 
turns  out  to  be  in  fact. 

"  Oh,  wretched  we  !  when  did  he  go?" 

"  The  day  before  yesterday." 

"  See  now,  if  I  had  only  listened  to  my  first 
inspiration  to  come  a  few  days  before.  And 
can't  you  tell  when  he  is  going  to  return,  with- 
in a  day  or  two,  or  so  ?" 

"  My  good  woman  !  the  provincial  father 
knows,  if  indeed  he  does  know.  When  one  of 
our  father  preachers  has  taken  the  wing,  there 
is  no  telling  on  wnat  branch  he  may  alight. 
He  is  sought  for  here,  he  is  sought  for  there, 
and  we  have  convents  in  all  the  four  parts  of 
the  world.  You  may  be  quite  sure  that  father 
Christopher  is  making  a  noise  at  Rimini,  with 
his  quaresimal  discourse ;  for  he  does  not  al- 
ways preach  as  he  used  to  do  here  for  the 
country  folks,  any  tiling  that  came  uppermost, 
but  has  his  sermons  all  nicely  written  out, 
beautiful  things.  Well,  the  fame  of  this  great 

E readier  is  rumored  about,   and  then   you 
now,  they  can  ask  for  him  from .    What 

do  I  know  where  they  can't  ask  him  from  ? 


And  then  we  must  give  him  up,  for  as  we  live 
upon  the  charity  ot  every  body,  so  it  is  just 
that  we  give  every  body  a  little  of  what  we 
have  got." 

"Oh,  misery!  misery!"  exclaimed  Agnes 
again,  "  how  can  I  get  on  without  him  ?  He 
was  a  father  to  us.  This  wiU  prove  our  ruin." 

"  Listen,  my  good  woman !  father  Christo- 
pher was  truly  a  man ;  but  we  have  others  be- 
sides him,  don't  you  know  that  ?  full  of  charity 
and  of  ability,  and  who  know  how  to  conduct 
themselves  both  with  the  rich  and  the  poor. 
Do  you  want  father  Athanasius?  Do  you 
want  father  Girolamo?  Do  you  want  father 
Zaccaria  ?  That's  a  man  of  worth  do  you  see, 
father  Zaccaria.  And  don't  you  now,  like 
some  ignorant  women,  think  little  of  him,  be- 
cause he  is  so  thin,  and  has  such  a  small  voice, 
and  such  a  poor  little  beard.  I  don't  say  he  is 
a  great  preacher,  every  one  has  his  gifts ;  but 
to  take  counsel  from,  he  is  a  man,  do  you 
know  that  ?" 

"  Ob,  holy  patience !"  exclaimed  Agnes,  with 
that  mixture  of  gratitude  and  vexation  which 
words  inspire  that  have  nothing  but  their  good 
intention  to  recommend  them.  "  What  is  it  to 
me  what  this  man  is,  and  what  that  man  is 
not,  when  that  poor  good  man  that  is  gone 
away  was  the  one  that  was  acquainted  with 
our  affairs,  and  had  got  things  in  a  way  to  help 
us." 

"When  it  is  necessary  we  must  have  pa- 
tience." 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Agnes,  "  excuse  the 
trouble  I  have  given  you." 

"  Nothing  at  all,  my  good  woman,  I  am  sor- 
ry on  your  account,  and  if  you  make  up  your 
mind  to  consult  any  of  our  fathers,  here  the 
convent  is,  that  won't  fly  away  at  any  rate. 
I  shall  give  you  a  call  soon,  about  the  perqui- 
sition for  oil." 

"Health  be  with  you,"  said  Agnes,  and 
went  on  towards  her  village,  deserted,  con- 
fused and  disconcerted,  like  a  poor  blind  per- 
son that  had  lost  his  staff. 

Being  a  little  better  informed  than  friar  Gal- 
dino, we  can  state  how  matters  really  had 
gone.  Attilio  was  scarcely  arrived  in  Milan, 
than  he  paid  a  visit  as  he  had  promised  Don 
Rodrigo,  to  their  common  uncle  of  the  secret 
council.  (It  was  composed  at  that  period,  of 
thirteen  personages  of  the  cloak  and  sword; 
the  advisers  of  me  governor,  and  who,  in  the 
case  of  his  death  or  removal,  temporarily  as- 
sumed the  government.)  This  count  uncle, 
one  of  the  ancients  of  the  council,  enjoyed  a 
certain  influence  there,  but  in  the  use  of  it, 
and  in  making  it  felt  out  of  doors,  he  had  no 
rival!  an  ambiguous  language,  a  significant 
silence,  a  middle  course,  an  expression  of  the 
eyes  which  said — I  may  not  speak, — an  encou- 
ragement without  promises,  a  ceremonious  way 
of  threatening,  all  was  directed  to  that  end,  and 
all  that  he  did,  more  or  less,  turned  to  account. 
So  much  so,  that  even  when  he  said— I  can 
do  nothing  in  this  matter — a  thing  some- 
times said  in  all  sincerity,  it  was  said  in  a  way 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


119 


that  he  was  not  believed,  it  only  served  to  in- 
crease the  conceit  of,  and  consequently  the 
reality  of  his  power ;  like  those  boxes  we  see 
in  the  apothecaries  shops,  with  Arabic  words 
on  them,  and  which  have  got  nothing  inside, 
yet  still  are  useful  in  keeping  up  the  credit  oi 
the  shop. 

The  credit  of  the  count  uncle,  which  for  a 
long  time  had  been  gradually  increasing,  lat- 
terly had  made,  all  at  once,  a  gigantic  stride, 
upon  the  extraordinary  occasion  of  a  journey 
to  Madrid,  with  a  mission  to  the  court,  where 
to  learn  what  sort  of  reception  was  accorded 
to  him,  it  was  necessary  to  hear  the  relation 
from  himself. — To  say  nothing  more  of  it,  the 
Count  Duke  had  treated  him  with  a  particular 
condescension,  and  had  admitted  him  into  his 
confidence,  to  such  a  point,  that  upon  one  oc- 
casion he  had  asked  him  in  the  presence  of 
the  court  itself, — if  he  was  pleased  with  Mad- 
rid— and  another  time  he  went  so  far  as  to  say 
to  him,  when  they  were  alone,  standing  at  a 
window, — that  the  cathedral  of  Milan  was 
the  greatest  temple  in  all  the  King's  domi- 
nions.— 

After  proper  expressions  of  respect  to  the 
count  uncle,  and  presenting  to  him  the  salu- 
tations of  his  cousin,  Attilio,  with  a  grave 
countenance,  which  he  well  knew  how  to  put 
on,  said,  "  I  believe  it  is  an  affair  of  duty  on 
my  part,  without  a  breach  of  confidence  to- 
wards Don  Rodrigo,  to  inform  my  uncle  of  an 
affair,  which,  if  he  does  not  take  it  in  hand, 
may  become  serious,  and  produce  conse- 
quences— " 

"  Some  of  his  mad 1  suppose — " 

"In  truth,  I  must  state  that  Don  Rodrigo  is  not 
in  the  wrong  in  this  case,  but  he  is  somewhat 
warm — and,  and  as  I  was  saying,  if  my  uncle 
does  not — " 

"  What  is  it  ?  let  us  see !" 
"  There  is  a  capuchin  in  those  parts,  who 
keeps  persecuting  my  cousin,  and  the  matter 

is  brought  to  such  a  point,  that " 

"  How  often  have  I  told  you  both,  that  you 
should  let  the  friars  boil*  in  their  own  broth. 
Its  as  much  as  one  can  bear  to  let  them  go  on 
as  they  do,  with  those  it  becomes  them  to  do 
with.  But  you  who  could  keep  out  of  their 

way " 

"  Indeed,  uncle,  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  that 
Rodrigo  would  have  avoided  him,  if  it  had 
been  possible  :  and  the  friar  who  is  annoying 
him,  and  who  takes  every  possible  way  to 

provoke  him " 

"What  the  deuce  is  the  friar  persecuting 
my  nephew  for?" 

.  "  Why  first  of  all,  he  is  a  hot  headed  person, 
known  to  be  such  indeed,  and  who  professes  to 
dislike  cavaliers.  This  friar,  protects,  directs, 
what  do  I  know  about  it  ?  a  young  country 
girl  of  those  parts,  and  has  a  sort  of  cnarity  for 
the  creature — a  chanty,  not  an  interested 
charity,  but  a  jealous,  suspicious,  ill-natured 
kind  of  interest." 

*  Quarrel  with  one  another. 


"  I  understand,"  said  the  count  uncle,  and 
with  a  fund  of  stupidity  depicted  by  nature  on 
his  countenance,  concealed  and  covered  up 
however  pretty  well  by  his  politic  manoeuvres, 
he  let  out  a  ray  of  malice,  that  was  admirable 
in  its  way. 

"For  sometime,"  continued  Attilio,  "this 
friar  has  taken  it  into  his  head,  that  Rodrigo 
had  I  do  not  know  what  sort  of  designs  upon 

"  Taken  it  into  his  head — taken  it  into  his 
head.  I  know  Don  Rodrigo  myself  pretty 
well,  and  he  will  stand  in  need  of  some  other 
advocate  besides  yourself,  to  justify  him  in  af- 
fairs of  this  kind." 

"That  Rodrigo,  uncle,  may  have  joked 
with  the  young  girl,  meeting  her  on  the  road, 
is  very  likely  to  be  true ;  he  is  a  young  fellow, 
and  at  any  rate  he  is  not  a  capuchin ;  but  these 
are  follies  not  fit  to  speak  of  before  my  uncle : 
the  truth  of  the  matter  is,  that  the  friar  has  un- 
dertaken to  speak  of  Rodrigo  as  if  he  was  no- 
tliiug  but  a  ruffian,  and  tries  to  excite  the  whole 
country  against  him," 

"  And  the  other  friars  ?" 

"They  don't  trouble  themselves  about  it, 
they  know  he  is  a  hot  headed  man,  and  have  a 
great  respect  for  Rodrigo,  but  on  the  other 
side  this  friar  has  great  influence  with  the 
country  people,  for  he  plays  the  saint,  and 

"  I  suppose  he  does  not  know  Rodrigo  is 
my  nephew  ?" 

"  Not  know  that !  It  is  that  exactly  which 
makes  him  so  audacious." 

"How?  how?" 

"  Because,  and  he  says  it  himself,  that  it 
2jives  him  greater  pleasure  to  persecute  Rodri- 
50  in  this  way,  just  because  ne  has  a  natural 
protector  of  such  authority  as  your  excellency : 
and  because  he  laughs  at  politicians  and  great 
men,  and  says  that  the  cordon  of  Saint  Fran  • 
cis  has  all  the  swords  tied  up,  and  that " 

"  Insolent  friar,  what  is  his  name  ?" 

"  Brother  Christopher  of "  said  Attilio, 

and  the  Count  Zio,  taking  down  a  writing  case, 
wrote  down  the  friars  humble  name.  In  the 
meantime  Attilio  went  on,  "  He  has  always 
been  just  such  a  man,  his  history  is  known.  He 
was  a  plebeian,  and  having  a  little  money  was 
always  entering  into  competition  with  the  cav- 
aliers of  the  town  where  he  lived,  and  enraged 
secause  he  could  not  succeed  with  all  of  them, 
ic  slew  one,  and  to  avoid  punishment  turned 
*"ir." 

'  Bravo !  capital !  we'll  see,  we'll  see,"  said 
he  count  uncle,  puffing  all  the  time. 

1  Now,"  continued  Attilio,  "  he  is  more  en- 
raged than  ever,  having  failed  in  a  scheme  that 
le  took  a  great  interest  in,  and  from  this  my 
uncle  will  comprehend  what  sort  of  a  man  he 
is.  He  wanted  to  have  that  creature  of  his 
married ;  whether  it  was  to  save  her  from  the 
dangers  of  the  world,  your  excellency  under- 
stands me — or  whatever  was  the  reason,  at  any 
rate  he  wanted  to  have  her  married,  and  so  he 
bund  out  a — man,  another  creature  of  his,  a  fel- 


120 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


low,  that  perhaps,  and  indeed  without  perhaps, 
you  will  know  by  name,  as  I  hold  it  certain 
that  the  secret  council  has  had  to  occupy  itself 
about  such  a  worthy  subject." 

"  Who  is  the  man  ?" 

"A  spinner  of  silk,  Lorenzo  Tramaglino,  he 
that " 

"  Lorenzo  Tramaglino,"  exclaimed  the  count 
uncle.  "  Capital !  Well  done,  friar !  To  be 
sure — in  fact — he  had  a  letter  for  a — it's  a  pit)' 
but — never  mind,  it's  all  right.  And  why  did 
not  Don  Rodrigo  tell'me  something  of  all  this, 
and  let  things  get  so  far  ahead,  without  apply- 
ing to  one  who  can  and  who  will  advise  and 
sustain  him  ? 

"  I  will  tell  the  truth  about  that  too ;  on  one 
side,  knowing  how  many  perplexities,  and 
how  many  things  your  excellency  has  to  think 
about,  (here  the  count  swelling,  put  his  hand 
on  his  head,  as  if  to  signify  what  a  task  it  was, 
to  have  so  many  important  matters  there)  felt 
rather  conscientious  about  giving  you  any 
more  trouble  :  and  indeed,  I  will  teff  the  whole. 
As  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  understand,  he 
is  so  embittered,  so  unhinged,  so  annoyed  by 
the  villanies  of  that  friar,  that  he  has  a  greater 
inclination  to  do  himself  justice,  in  some  sum- 
mary way,  than  to  obtain  it  in  a  regular  me- 
thod by  the  prudence  and  assistance  of  our 
uncle.  I  have  tried  to  throw  watef  on  the  fire, 
but  seeing  things  were  getting  worse,  I  have 
thought  it  my  duty  to  apprise  you  of  it,  since 
your  excellency  is  the  pillar  and  the  head  of 

our  house ' 

"  You  would  have  done  better  if  you  had 
told  it  a  little  before." 

"  It  is  true,  but  I  kept  hoping  the  thing  would 
die  of  itself  or  that  the  friar  would  come  to  his 
senses  again,  or  that  he  would  leave  that  con- 
vent, as  it  often  happens  to  these  friars,  who 
are  one  day  here  ana  another  day  there ;  and 

that  then  it  would  be  all  over.    But " 

"  Well  I  must  settle  the  affair  now." 
"  That's  what  I  have  thought.  I  have  said 
to  myself, — my  uncle  with  his  penetration, 
and  with  his  authority,  he  will  know  how  to 
prevent  any  scandal,  and  save  at  the  same  time 
the  honor  of  Rodrigo,  which  in  fact  is  his  own. 
This  friar,  said  I,  is  always  talking  about  the 
cordon  of  Saint  Francis,  but  to  make  a  good 
use  of  it,  it  is  not  necessary  to  have  it  always 
around  your  own  waist.  My  uncle  has  a  hun- 
dred ways  that  I  know  nothing  of.  I  know 
the  provincial  father,  as  is  very  proper,  has  the 
greatest  deference  for  him,  and  if  my  uncle 
should  think  it  an  expedient  plan  to  procure  a 
change  of  air  for  the  friar,  with  two  words 

"  Leave  that  thought  to  those  it  belongs  to, 
if  you  please,  sir,"  said  the  count  uncle  rather 
snappingly. 

"  True,  sir,"  said  Attilio,  with  a  shake  of 
his  head,  and  a  smile  of  compassion  for  him- 
self. "  I  am  not  a  person  to  give  counsel  to 
your  excellency,  but  it  is  the  extreme  anxiety 
I  have  for  the  reputation  of  our  house  that 
makes  me  talk.  I  fear  also  I  may  have  erred 


in  another  particular,"  he  continued  with  a 
thoughtful  look,  "  I  am  afraid  I  may  have  pre- 
judiced Rodrigo  in  the  opinion  of  my  uncle. 
I  should  not  be  at  peace  it  I  was  the  cause  of 
your  thinking  that  Rodrigo  does  not  entertain 
that  reliance,  and  that  submission,  which  his 
duty  to  you,  sir — and  you  may  believe,  that  in 
this  particular  case " 

"  Come,  come,  how  can  you  do  any  thing 
to  prejadice  one  another  ?  You  will  always  be 
good  friends,  until  one  of  you  gets  a  little  judg- 
ment. You  are  always  getting  into  some  wild 
scrape  or  other,  and  then  you  come  to  ine  to 
set  them  right ;  you — you  will  make  me  say 
something  extravagant — you  give  me  more  to 

think  about,  than "  And  here  he  swelled 

out,  "  All  these  blessed  affairs  of  state." 

Attilio,  with  a  few  more  excuses,  promises, 
and  compliments,  took  his  leave,  accompanied 
with  a  "  have  a  little  judgment,"  which  was 
the  usual  formula  of  dismission  of  the  count 
uncle  to  his  nephews. 


CHAPTER  XIX 
( 

IF  any  one  seeing  a  bad  weed  in  an  ill  cul- 
tivated field,  wild  sorrel,  ibr  instance,  should 
be  anxious  to  discover  whether  it  sprung  from 
seed  ripened  in  the  same  field,  or  had  been 
brought  there  by  the  wind,  or  dropped  there 
by  the  birds,  would  never,  however  much  he 
might  reflect  upon  it,  come  to  a  conclusion. 
In  like  manner  we  are  unable  to  tell,  whether 
the  resolution  of  the  count  uncle  to  make  use 
of  the  provincial  father  to  cut  this  knot  in  the 
best  way,  sprung  from  the  bottom  of  his  own 
brain,  or  from  the  hint  Attilio  gave  him.  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  Attilio  did  not  let  it  drop  by 
chance,  and  although  he  might  well  expect 
that  the  jealous  vain  glory  of  the  count  uncle, 

light  take  umbrage,  at  a  suggestion  so  palpa- 
bly made,  at  any  rate  he  determined  to  let  out 

little  flash  of  lightning  before  the  idea  of  his 
scheme,  that  he  might  see  the  road  to  it,  which 
he  wished  him  to  travel  upon  On  the  other 
hand  the  plan  fell  so  completely  in  with  the 
notions  of  the  count  uncle,  and  was  so  appro- 
priate to  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  that 
without  a  suggestion  from  any  one,  it  is  very 
likely  he  would  have  thought  of  it  and  adopted 
it.  Here  was  a  war  openly  declared,  and  the 
matter  was  whether  his  nephew  was  to  have  the 
worst  of  it,  a  point  most  essential  for  that  repu- 
tation of  power  he  had  so  much  at  heart  The 
satisfaction  his  nephew  might  take  into  his 
own  hands,  would  have  proved  a  remedy  worse 
than  the  evil,  a  complete  hot  bed  of  difficulties ; 
and  this  must  be  prevented  at  any  cost,  and 
without  losing  time.  If  he  should  lay  his  com- 
mands upon  him  to  leave  his  villa  immediately, 
he  would  not  have  obeyed  him  :  and  if  he  had 
done  so,  it  would  have  been  yielding  the 
ground,  and  an  open  retreat  made  bv  his  house 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


121 


before  a  convent.  Orders,  legal  force,  scare- 
crows of  that  kind,  were  of  no  value  with  such 
an  adversary  as  they  had  to  contend  with.  The 
regular  as  well  as  the  secular  clergy,  enjoyed 
a  complete  immunity  from  all  laical  jurisdic- 
tion, not  only  in  their  persons,  but  also  in  their 
habitations.  All  that  could  be  done  against 
such  an  adversary  was  to  try  to  remove  him, 
and  the  way  to  accomplish  that  was  through 
the  provincial  father,  who  had  the  power  to 
send  their  enemy  away  or  let  him  remain. 

Between  the  provincal  father  and  the  count 
uncle  there  was  an  acquaintance  of  some  stand- 
ing ;  they  saw  each  other  seldom,  but  when 
they  did  meet  it  was  with  great  demonstrations 
of  friendship,  and  extravagant  offers  of  service. 
It  is  sometimes  easier  to  make  a  good  bargain 
with  a  person  who  is  placed  over  a  great  many 
individuals,  than  with  any  one  of  them,  for  he 
can  see  nothing  but  his  own  cause,  be  moved 
by  nothing  but  nis  own  passions,  and  cares  for 
nothing  but  the  point  he  is  aiming  at :  whilst 
the  other  has  the  scope  of  a  hundred  contin- 
gencies and  interests,  sees  a  hundred  difficul- 
ties that  must  be  avoided,  a  hundred  things  to 
preserve,  and  is  able  thus  to  go  a  hundred  ways 
to  work. 

Having  well  considered  every  thing,  the 
count  uncle  one  day  invited  the  provincial  fa- 
ther to  dinner,  where  he  found  a  number  of 
distinguished  guests  brought  together  with 
great  refinement  of  selection.  Men  of  rank, 
the  name  of  whose  houses  alone  was  a  title  of 
distinction,  and  whose  physiognomy  bore  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  native  confidence,  and  lordly  dis- 
dain ;  men  who  when  talking  of  high  matters 
in  familiar  terms,  succeeded,  even  when  they 
did  not  do  it  on  purpose,  with  impressing  upon 
their  auditors  an  idea  of  superiority  and  pow- 
er. Some  clients  too  attached  to  the  house 
from  hereditary  devotion,  and  to  the  master  by 
the  servitude  of  a  whole  life,  and  who  begin- 
ning from  the  soup  to  say  yes  to  every  thing, 
with  their  mouths,  their  eyes,  their  ears,  their 
heads,  with  their  whole  body,  and  with  all 
their  souls,  had,  when  the  dessert  came  on  the 
table,  brought  themselves  to  the  point  of  not 
remembering  how  no  was  pronounced. 

During  the  dinner,  the  count  turned  the 
conversation  upon  the  topic  of  Madrid.  There 
are  divers  roads  that  lead  to  Rome,  but  he 
made  every  possible  road  lead  to  Madrid.  He 
spoke  of  the  court,  of  the  Count  Duke,  of  the 
ministers,  of  the  family  of  the  governor,  of  the 
bull  fights,  which  he  could  describe  very  well, 
because  he  had  been  very  advantageously 
placed  for  seeing  them  :  he  spoke  of  the  Es- 
curial  also  of  which  he  was  able  to  give  a 
minute  account,  as  a  servant  of  the  Count 
Duke  had  taken  him  through  every  hole  and 
corner  of  it.  For  some  time  the  company, 
like  an  audience,  was  attentive  to  him  alone, 
but  at  length  got  into  separate  colloquies  :  he 
than  began  to  tell  other  fine  stories,  in  confi- 
dence, to  the  provincial  father,  who  was  seat- 
ed by  his  side,  and  who  let  him  talk  on.  But 
at  a  certain  point  he  gave  a  turn  to  the  dis- 
16 


course,  he  dropped  Madrid,  and  from  court  to 
court,  from  dignity  to  dignity,  got  to  talk 
about  cardinal  Barberini,  who  was  a  capuchin, 
and  brother  to  the  reigning  Pope  Urban  the 
eighth.  The  count  uncle  was  now  obliged  to 
let  the  other  talk  a  while,  and  to  listen,  and 
finally  to  remember  that  every  body  in  this 
world  were  not  obliged  to  play  the  second  fid- 
dle to  him.  Having  risen  from  table  he  request- 
ed the  provincial  father  to  accompany  him  to 
another  room.  Two  important  personages, 
two  gray  beards,  two  consummate  tacticians, 
were  now  front  to  front.  The  magnifico  made 
the  very  reverend  father  seat  himself,  and  hav- 
ing also  taken  a  seat,  began  : 

"  On  account  of  the  friendship  between  us, 
I  have  thought  of  speaking  to  your  paternity  of 
an  affair  that  mutually  concerns  us,  and  that 
it  will  be  better  to  settle  between  us,  without 
letting  it  take  another  course,  that  might — and 
therefore,  in  perfect  sincerity,  I  will  say  what 
it  is  about,  and  I  am  quite  sure  that  in  two 
words  we  can  arrange  it.  Tell  me,  in  your 
convent  of  Pescarenico,  is  there  not  one  father 
Christopher ?" 

The  provincial  father  nodded  assent. 

"  Will  your  paternity  tell  me  frankly,  like  a 
friend — this  subject — this  father — I  do  not 
know  him  personally,  although  I  know  a  great 
many  of  the  capuchin  fathers,  men  of  worth, 
zealous,  prudent,  humble — I  have  been  a  friend 
of  the  order  ever  since  I  was  a  boy — but — in 
every  family  that,  is  rather  numerous — there  is 
always  some  one,  that  has  got  a  head — and 
this  father  Christopher,  I  know  from  certain 
circumstances  that  he  is  a  man — rather — prone 
to  get  into  disputes — that  he  has  not  all  that 
prudence,  all  that  consideration — I  should 
judge  he  must  have  given  your  paternity  some 
anxiety  more  than  once." 

— I  understand — here  is  something  or  other 
going  on, — thought  the  provincial  to  himself. 
— It  is  my  fault — I  knew  very  well  that  bless- 
ed father  Christopher  was  just  a  subject  to 
travel  about  from  pulpit  to  pulpit,  and  not  a 
man  to  leave  six  months  in  one  place,  espe- 
cially in  the  country  convents. — 

"  Indeed,"  he  began,  "  I  am  extremely  sorry 
to  hear  that  your  magnificence  entertains  such 
an  opinion  of  father  Christopher,  for,  as  far  as 
I  know,  he  is  a  religious  person — exemplary 
inside  in  the  convent,  and  highly  esteemed 
out  of  it." 

"  I  understand  very  well,  your  paternity  ne- 
cessarily— but,  truly  as  a  sincere  friend,  I 
wish  to  inform  you  of  a  matter  you  ought 
to  be  acquainted  with  ;  and  if  indeed  it  was 
already  known,  I  might  without  failing  in  re- 
spect, allude  to  certain  consequences — possi- 
ble that — I  say  no  more.  This  father  Christo- 
pher, we  know  to  have  protected  a  man  who 
belongs  to  those  parts,  a  man— your  paternity 
will  have  heard  him  spoken  of,  he  that  escaped 
with  so  much  scandal  from  the  hands  of  jus- 
tice, after  having  done  things,  that  terrible 
Saint  Martin's  day, — things — that  Lorenzo 
Tramaglino." 


. 


122 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


Ha,  ha !  thought  the  provincial,  and  then 
said,  "  This  is  quite  new  to  me,  but  your  mag- 
nificence knows  very  well  that  one  part  of  our 
office  is  precisely  to  go  in  search  of  those  who 
stray,  to  bring  them  back  to  the  fold." 

"  That  is  right ;  but  there  are  certain  ways  ot 
dealing  with  such  people,  that ;  these  are  thorny 
matters,  delicate  affairs — "  and  here  instead  of 
puffing  and  swelling  his  cheeks  out,  he  drew  in 
his  lips  and  as  much  air  as  he  usually  blew  out, 
and  continued,  "  I  have  thought  it  right  to  give 
your  excellency  this  hint,  because  if  ever — it 
might  be  that  some  complaint  might  be  made  at 
Rome — I  know  nothing— and  there  might  come 
from  Rome — " 

"  Your  magnificence  is  very  kind  in  giving 
me  this  counsel,  but  I  feel  certain  that  if  in- 
quires should  be  made  into  this  affair,  that  it 
will  be  found  that  father  Christopher  has  had 
nothing  to  do  with  this  man,  but  in  the  way  of 
directing  him  how  to  conduct  himself.  I  know 
father  Christopher." 

"  Certainly,  your  excellency  must  know 
better  than  me  what  sort  pf  a  person  he  was 
in  his  day,  and  the  affairs  he  was  concerned  in 
when  he  was  a  young  man." 

"  It  is  the  glory  of  our  habit,  count,  that  a 
man  whom  the  world  has  had  occasion  to  talk 
about,  should,  notwithstanding  this,  become  so 
entirely  changed  :  for  since  father  Christopher 
has  belonged  to  our  order — " 

"  I  wisn  to  believe  it  with  all  my  heart,  I 
wish  to  believe  it ;  but  sometimes — as  the  pro- 
verb says — the  dress  does  not  make  the  monk." 

The  proverb  did  not  exactly  fit,  but  the 
count  had  substituted  it  in  the  place  of  another 
that  crossed  his  mind,  that  the  "  wolf  changes 
his  skin  but  not  his  viciousness." 

"I  have  some  information,"  he  went  on, 
"some  indications — " 

"  Does  your  magnificence  positively  know," 
said  the  provincial,  "  that  this  religious  person 
has  committed  any  breach  of  duty — we  all 
may  err — do  me  the  favor  to  inform  me  if  it  is 
so.  I  am  a  superior,  unworthily,  but  I  am 
made  so  expressly  to  correct  and  remedy  such 
irregularities." 

"I  will  tell  you ;  together  with  the  unplea- 
sant circumstance  of  the  countenance  which 
this  father  has  given  to  the  person  I  mentioned, 
there  is  another  very  disagreeable  matter,  and 
which  might — but  between  us  two,  we  can  ar- 
range every  thing  at  once.  This  father  Christo- 
pher, as  I  was  saying,  has  undertaken  to  cm- 
broil  himself  with  my  nephew,  Don  Rodrigo." 

"  Indeed  I  am  very  sorry  at  this  !  extreme- 
ly sorry,  indeed  I  am." 

"  My  nephew  is  young  and  hot ;  he  feels  his 
consequence,  and  is  not  accustomed  to  be  pro- 
voked." 

"  It  shall  be  my  duty  to  inform  myself  cor- 
rectly of  this  fact.  As  I  have  already  said  to 
your  magnificence,  who  with  your  great  know- 
ledge of  tne  world,  and  with  your  equity,  knows 
these  things  better  than  myself,  we  are  all  flesh, 
all  subject  to  err ;  as  mucn  on  one  side  as  on  the 
other.and  if  ourfatherChristophcrhas  erred." — 


"  Your  paternity  will  see  that  these  are 
things,  as  I  was  saying,  to  settle  between  our- 
selves, to  bury  here,  if  they  are  too  much 
stirred  up,  all  the  worse.  You  know  how 
these  things  arise  ;  contests  of  this  kind  often 
spring  from  some  trifling  matter,  and  keep 
getting  worse,  getting  worse.  If  we  try  to 

Eet  to  the  bottom  of  them,  we  either  lose  our 
ibor  or  create  a  hundred  other  difficulties. 
Calm  them  down,  stop  them  at  the  beginning, 
very  reverend  father,  stop  them,  calm  them. 
My  nephew  is  a  young  man,  the  friar,  from 
what  I  hear,  has  all  the  spirit,  the — inclina- 
tions of  youth,  and  it  is  our  business  who 
have  years  on  our  shoulders — too  many  of 
them,  very  reverend  father— it  is  our  business 
to  find  common  sense  for  these  young  men, 
and  to  smooth  over  their  irregularities.  Luckily 
we  are  in  time  to  do  it,  the  affair  has  made  no 
noise,  it  is  still  a  good  case  of  principiis  obsta. 
We  must  separate  the  fire  from  the  straw. 
Sometimes  a  man  who  does  not  succeed,  or 
who  is  the  cause  of  inconvenience  in  one 
place,  succeeds  to  a  charm  in  another  place. 
Your  paternity  knows  very  well  how  to  find  a 
convenient  niche  for  this  friar.  There  is  also 
the  other  circumstance,  that  he  may  possibly 
have  some  distrust  of  the  person  with  whom — 
he  may  be  very  glad  to  be  removed,  and  so  by 
placing  him  in  some  convent  at  some  distance, 
we  undertake  one  journey  and  two  good 
offices,  every  thing  accommodates  itself,  or  to 
express  it  better,  nothing  is  wasted." 

This  conclusion,  the  provincial  father  was 
looking  for  from  the  beginning  of  the  inter- 
view. Ah  ! — thought  he  to  himself — that  is 
what  you  are  wanting  to  bring  me  to.  It  is 
the  old  matter,  when  a  poor  Iriar  is  at  vari- 
ance with  any  of  you,  or  with  one  of  you,  or 
gives  umbrage,  immediately  without  inquiring 
whether  he  is  in  the  right  or  the  wrong,  the 
superior  has  to  set  him  on  his  travels. 

When  the  count  ceased  to  speak  and  sent 
out  a  great  puff  with  his  breath,  that  was  equal 
to  a  full  stop, "  I  comprehend  exactly,"  said  the 
provincial,  "what  your  magnificence  means 
to  say,  but  before  a  step  is  taxen " 

"It  is  a  step  and  it  is  not  a  step,  very  reve- 
rend father,  it  is  a  natural  thing,  a  common 
thing ;  and  if  we  don't  come  to  this  determina- 
tion, and  that  directly,  I  foresee  a  mountain  of 
disorders,  an  iliad  of  woes.  Any  thing  very 
rash — I  should  not  think  my  nephew  would — 
I  am  here — and  he  would  not — but  at  the  point 
where  the  affair  is,  if  we  don't  cut  it  short 
without  losing  time  by  one  neat  blow,  it  will 
not  be  possible  to  stop  it,  to  keep  it  secret, — 
and  then  it  will  not  be  my  nephew  only — we 
shall  rouse  a  wasp's  nest — our  house — as  you 
know — has  extensive " 

"  Very,  indeed !" 

"  Your  excellency  understands  me ;  men 
that  have  got  blood  in  their  veins,  and  who  in 
this  world  pass  for  something.  Then  puncti- 
lio arises,  it  becomes  a  common  affair,  and 
after  that — even  those  who  are  friends  to 
peace — It  would  really  go  to  my  very  heart,  to 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


123 


be  obliged — to  find  myself— I,  who  have  al- 
ways had  such  a  predilection  for  the  capuchin 
friars— !  Those  fathers,  to  do  good— as  they 
do  with  such  edification  of  the  public — want 
peace,  they  dont  wan't  quarrels,  they  want  to 
be  in  harmony  with — and  then  they  have  con- 
nections too,  and  these  bad  punctilios,  if  they 
are  permitted  to  get  ahead,  extend,  ramify, 
penetrate — the  whole  world  gets  divided.  I 
myself  am  in  that  blessed  sort  of  position,  that 
obliges  me  to  sustain  a  certain  decorum, — 
His  excellency — my  colleagues, — every  thing 
becomes  a  party  affair — especially  with  that 
other  circumstance — Your  paternity  knows 
how  such  things  work." 

"Truly,"  said  the  provincial  father,  "father 
Christopher  is  a  preacher,  and  I  had  already 
entertained  some  thoughts — at  this  very  mo- 
ment I  have  been  requested — but  again  at  this 
precise  moment  it  might  look  like  a  punish- 
ment, and  a  punishment  before  any  proof  had 

been  exhibited " 

"  No  punishment  at  all !  not  at  all,  a  pru- 
dent foresight,  an  arrange  of  mutual  conveni- 
ence, merely  to  prevent  the  sinister  conse- 
quences— I  have  done." 

"  Between  you  count  and  myself,  the  thing 
is  exactly  so,  I  comprehend.  But,  the  affair 
being  as  it  was  related  to  your  magnificence, 
it  is  impossible  I  say,  but  that  it  must  have 
transpired  somewhat  in  the  country.  In  all 
places,  there  are  a  set  of  mischief  makers,  and 
curious  malicious  persons,  who  take  a  delight 
in  seeing  the  nobles  and  the  religious  orders 
upon  bad  terms  with  each  other,  and  they  will 
talk  and  make  a  noise  about  such  things. 
Every  one  has  his  own  decorum  to  preserve ; 
and  as  to  myself,  as  superior — unworthy — I 
have  an  express  duty  in  charge — the  honor  of 
the  habit — it  is  not  my  affair — it  is  a  deposit 
respecting  which — Your  nephew,  since  he  is 
so  warm  in  the  affair,  as  your  magnificence 
says,  might  take  the  thing  as  a  satisfaction 
offered  to  himself,  and — I  don't  mean  that  he 
would  boast  and  make  a  triumph  of  it,  but — " 
"  Your  paternity  must  be  joking  with  me  ? 
My  nephew  is  a  cavalier  of  some  considera- 
tion in  the  world — according  to  his  rank  and 
right ;  but  with  me  he  is  only  a  boy,  and  will 
do  exactly  what  I  shall  prescribe  him  to  do.  I 
will  tell  you  more,  my  nephew  shall  know 
nothing  about  it.  What  reason  is  there  for  us 
to  say  any  thing  about  it  ?  They  are  matters 
between  us  two,  as  between  good  friends,  and 
every  thing  is  to  be  kept  quiet.  Give  your- 
self no  thought  about  it.  I  ought  to  be  accus- 
tomed to  be  discreet."  Here  ne  gave  a  puff. 
"  As  to  the  idle  talkers,"  he  continued,  "  what 
have  they  got  to  say  ?  It  is  a  very  common 
thing  for  a  religious  man  to  go  from  one  place 
to  another  to  preach !  And  then,  we  who  are 
on  the  look  out — we  who  foresee  matters — we 
who  ought — must  not  we  look  after  these 
talkers  too?" 

"  Still,  with  a  view  to  prevent  them,  it 
would  be  as  well  upon  this  occasion  if  your 
nephew  was  to  malce  some  demonstration,  to 


give  some  open  mark  of  friendship,  of  defer- 
ence, not  on  our  account,  but  for  the  order." 

"  Surely,  surely,  that  is  right — but  there  is 
no  occasion  for  it ;  I  know  that  the  capuchins 
are  always  treated  in  a  respectful  manner  by 
my  nephew.  He  does  it  from  inclination,  it  is 
a  family  feeling,  and  then  he  will  be  glad  to  do 
what  is  agreeable  to  myself.  As  to  the  rest — 
in  this  affair — some  thing  still  more  marked — 
it  is  very  just.  Leave  it  to  me,  very  reverend 
father,  I  will  order  my  nephew — that  is,  it 
will  be  proper  to  insinuate  it  in  a  prudent 
way,  so  that  he  may  not  be  aware  of  what 
has  passed  between  us.  There  is  no  occa- 
sion you  know  to  put  a  plaster  on  where 
there  is  no  wound.  And  as  to  what  we  have 
concluded,  the  sooner  it  is  done,  the  better. 
And  if  the  place  was  a  good  distance  off,  to 
remove  every  possible  chance." 

"  I  have  been  solicited  precisely  to  send  a 
person  to  Rimini,  and  perhaps,  without  any 
other  cause,  I  might  have  cast  my  eyes 

"  Very  opportune,  very  opportune  indeed  1 
And  when  ?" 

"  Why,  since  the  matter  is  to  be  done,  it 
will  be  done  directly." 

"Directly,  directly,  very  reverend  father, 
better  to  day  than  tomorrow ;"  and  rising  from 
his  seat,  "  and  if  I  and  my  relations  can  be  of 
any  service  to  our  good  fathers,  the  capu- 
chins  " 

"  We  have  had  proofs  of  the  kindness  of 
your  house,"  said  the  provincial  father,  rising 
also,  and  moving  towards  the  door,  behind  his 
conqueror. 

"  We  have  extinguished  a  spark,"  said  the 
latter,  proceeding  slowly  "  A  spark,  very  re- 
verend father,  that  might  have  been  the  cause 
of  a  conflagration.  Between  good  friends,  a 
few  words  settle  great  matters. 

Having  reached  the  room  they  had  left,  he 
threw  the  folding  doors  wide  open,  and  insist- 
ing upon  the  provincial  father's  entering  first, 
they  again  rejoined  the  company. 

In  the  management  of  an  affair  the  count 
uncle  was  accustomed  to  use  much  study, 
much  art,  and  many  words,  and  they  produced 
corresponding  effects.  In  fact  the  colloquy 
we  have  described,  procured  friar  Christopher 
a  journey  on  foot  from  Pescarenico  to  Rimini, 
a  walk  of  no  small  magnitude. 

A  capuchin  arrived  one  evening  at  Pesca- 
renico from  Milan  with  a  despatch  for  the  fa- 
ther guardian.  In  it  was  the  order  for  father 
Christopher  to  go  to  Rimini,  to  preach  during 
lent.  The  letter  to  the  guardian  instructed 
lim  to  hint  to  the  friar  that  he  must  abandon 
all  thoughts  of  any  matter  he  might  have  en- 
jaged  himself  in,  in  the  country  he  was  about 
:o  leave,  and  not  maintain  any  correspondence 
with  it ;  the  friar  who  was  the  bearer  of  the  des- 
patch was  to  be  his  companion  during  the 
journey.  The  guardian  said  nothing  that 
evening,  but  in  the  morning  he  called  for  bro- 
ker Christopher,  showed  him  the  letter  re- 
quiring his  obedience,  told  him  to  get  his  bask- 


124 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


et,  his  staff,  his  sudario,*  and  his  girdle,  ready 
immediately  to  begin  his  journey  with  the  fa- 
ther companion  who  had  presented  himself. 

What  a  stroke  for  our  friar  ?  Renzo,  Lucia, 
Agnes,  rushed  to  his  mind,  and  he  almost  ex- 
claimed to  himself,  "  Oh,  God,  what  will  these 
helpless  creatures  do,  when  I  am  no  longer 
here  ?  But  soon  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  he 
accused  himself  of  want  of  faith,  of  believing 
that  he  was  necessary  to  accomplish  anything. 
He  crossed  his  hands  upon  his  breast  in  sign  of 
obedience,  and  bowed  his  head  before  the  fa- 
ther guardian,  who  taking  him  aside,  commu- 
nicated to  him,  with  some  advice  from  himself, 
the  other  part  of  his  instructions.  Brother 
Christopher  went  to  his  cell,  took  his  basket, 
placed  within  it  his  breviary,  his  quaresimal, 
and  his  bread  of  pardon.  He  then  girded  his 
loins  with  a  scourge  made  of  skin,  took  leave 
of  the  monks  who  were  in  the  convent,  pre- 
sented himself  as  a  last  act  to  receive  the  bene- 
diction of  the  father  guardian,  and  with  his 
companion  took  the  road  prescribed  to  him. 

We  have  said  that  Don  Rodrigo,  more  deter- 
mined than  ever  to  bring  his  enterprise  to  a 
conclusion,  had  resolved  to  seek  the  assistance 
of  a  terrible  man.  Of  this  personage  we  can 
neither  give  the  surname,  the  name,  the  title, 
nor  even  a  conjecture  about  them.  What 
makes  this  the  more  strange  is,  that  we  find  a 
great  many  notices  of  him  in  the  printed  books 
of  that  time.  That  it  is  the  same  person,  the 
facts  leave  no  sort  of  room  to  doubt ;  but  there 
appears  a  studied  effort  to  avoid  mentioning 
his  name,  as  if  it  might  burn  the  pen,  and  the 
hand  of  the  writer.  Francesco  Rivola,  in  his 
life  of  the  Cardinal  Federigo  Borromeo,  having 
to  speak  of  this  man,  says,  "  A  nobleman  as 
powerful  by  his  riches,  as  he  was  noble  by 
birth,"  without  adding  more.  Guiseppe  Ripa- 
monti,  who  in  the  fifth  book  of  the  fifth  decade 
of  his  Storia  Patria,  enters  into  more  detail, 
calls  him,  "  one,  this  man,  that  man,  that  per- 
sonage." "  I  will  notice,"  says  he,  in  his  pure 
latin,  which  we  translate  as  well  as  we  are  able, 
"  the  case  of  one  who  being  amongst  the  very 
first  of  the  great  men  of  the  city,  had  fixed  his 
residence  at  a  villa,  and  there  making  himself 
secure  through  the  crimes  he  committed,  held 
all  sentences,  the  judges,  the  inagistrature,  and 
the  sovereignty,  in  contempt.  Living  upon 
the  extreme  confines  of  the  State,  he  led  an  in- 
dependent life;  the  receiver  of  banished  men, 
himself  having  been  banished  for  a  time,  and 
returned  afterwards."  From  this  writer  we 
shall  take  other  passages  by  and  by,  which  go 
precisely  to  confirm  and  illustrate  the  narrative 
of  our  anonymous  author,  with  which  we  now 
proceed. 

To  do  that  which  was  forbidden  by  the 
public  decrees,  or  opposed  by  any  force  what- 
ever, to  be  the  arbiter,  the  master  in  other  peo- 
ple's affairs,  without  any  other  motive  but  a 
passion  for  controlling  every  thing ;  to  be  feared 
by  all,  and  to  be  assisted  by  the  very  men,  who 

•  A  winding  sheet,  possessed  by  every  capuchin. 


were  accustomed  to  have  their  own  behests 
executed  by  others ;  such  had  been  at  all 
times,  the  principal  passion  of  this  man.  From 
his  youth,  at  the  exhibition  and  noise  of  so 
many  overbearing  acts,  so  many  agitations,  so 
many  quarrels ;  at  the  sight  of  so  many  ty- 
rants, he  experience  a  mixed  sentiment  of  in- 
dignation and  impatient  envy.  Young,  and 
residing  in  the  city,  he  let  no  occasion  pass, 
indeed  sought  for  them,  to  oppose  himself  to 
the  leaders  of  this  class,  to  humble  them,  to 
force  them  to  contend  with  him,  or  to  seek  his 
friendship.  Superior  to  the  greater  part  of 
them  in  riches  and  dependants,  and  perhaps  to 
all  in  boldness  and  fortitude,  he  forced  many 
to  withdraw  their  pretensions  of  rivalry,  many 
he  treated  very  roughly,  and  many  became  his 
friends.  Not  friends  upon  an  equality,  but 
only  whilst  they  conformed  in  their  conduct, 
to  his  insolent  and  superb  spirit ;  subordinate 
friends,  who  professea  to  be  inferior  to  him- 
self, and  who  were  contented  to  be  placed  at 
his  left  hand. 

In  fact,  however,  he  became  a  sort  of  in- 
strument of  theirs,  for  they  never  failed  in 
their  enterprises  to  ask  for  the  aid  of  such  an 
auxiliary  as  he  was,  and  if  he  had  drawn 
back,  his  reputation  would  have  suffered,  fall- 
ing short  of  what  he  had  assumed  to  be ;  so 
that,  what  on  his  own  account,  and  what  on 
account  of  others,  he  committed  so  many 
crimes,  that  neither  his  name,  nor  connex- 
ions, nor  his  friends,  nor  his  audacity  being 
sufficient  to  sustain  him  against  the  public 
outlawries,  and  against  so  many  powerful 
hatreds,  he  was  compelled  to  submit,  and  to 
leave  the  state.  I  imagine  it  is  to  this  circum- 
stance that  a  remarkable  passage  in  Ripa- 
monti  refers.  "  Once  when  he  nad  to  leave 
the  country,  the  secrecy,  the  respect,  and  the 
timidity  he  observed,  were  after  this  fashion. 
He  went  through  the  city  on  horseback,  with 
a  train  of  dogs,  to  the  sound  of  trumpets ;  and 
passing  by  the  palace  where  the  count  resided, 
he  left  with  the  guards  a  message  for  the  go- 
vernor, replete  with  the  vilest  insolences." 

During  his  absence  his  practices  were  rot 
discontinued,  nor  his  correspondence  with  the 
friends  we  have  spoken  of,  and  who  continued 
their  connection  with  him,  interrupted.  We 
translate  literally  from  Ripamonti,  "  In  hidden 
league  of  atrocious  counsels,  and  the  most 
dreadful  undertakings."  It  appears  also  that 
besides  these,  he  committed  in  other  places, 
some  terrible  deeds,  respecting  which  the 
same  historian  speaks  with  a  misterious  brevi- 
ty, "  some  foreign  princes  too  availed  them- 
selves often  of  his  aid  in  some  slaughter  of 
importance  to  them,  to  be  perpetrated,  and 
frequently  he  had  sent  to  him  from  a  distance 
a  reinforcement  of  ruffians  to  serve  under  his 
orders." 

At  length,  (after  how  long  it  is  not  known) 
cither  the  outlawry  was  removed,  by  som« 
powerful  intercession,  or  audacity  stood  in  the 

Elace  of  every  permission,  ana  he  returned 
orae,  not  however  to  Milan,  but  to  a  castle  be- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


123 


longing  to  him  of  which  he  had  the  fief,  upon 
the  confines  of  the  Bergamasc  territory,  which, 
as  every  one  knows,  was  at  that  time,  under 
the  Venetian  dominion,  and  there  he  fixed  his 
residence.  "The  place,"  I  quote  yet  from 
Ripamonti,  "  was  an  office  of  bloody  man- 
dates, his  servants  were  all  outlaws  and  mur- 
derers, neither  his  cook  nor  scullion  could  be 
dispensed  from  having  committed  homicide, 
the  hands  of  the  boys  were  steeped  in  blood." 
Besides  this  fine  domestic  family,  he  had,  as 
the  same  historian  affirms,  another  composed 
of  similar  subjects,  dispersed  about,  and  quar- 
tered as  it  were  in  various  parts  of  the  two 
states,  upon  the  edge  of  which  he  lived,  hold- 
ing them  always  ready  to  his  orders. 

All  the  petty  tyrants  for  a  considerable  circle 
around  him,  had  been  compelled,  some  upon 
one  occasion,  and  others  upon  another,  to 
choose  between  the  friendship  and  the  hostili- 
ty of  this  extraordinary  ana  master  tyrant. 
But  those  who  at  first  had  attempted  to  offer 
any  resistance  to  him,  had  succeeded  so  ill, 
that  no  one  was  heard  of  disposed  to  try  the 
experiment  again.  Nor  could  any  who  at- 
tended to  nothing  but  their  own  affairs,  and 
who,  as  the  saying  is,  kept  themselves  to 
themselves,  remain  independent  of  him.  A 
messenger  would  arrive  to  intimate  that  such 
an  undertaken  must  be  desisted  from,  that 
such  a  debtor  must  not  be  molested,  and  to 
communications  of  that  nature,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  answer  yes  or  no.  When  a  party,  with 
a  sort  of  vassal  homage,  left  to  his  arbitra- 
ment any  affair  whatever,  the  other  party  had 
the  hard  choice  either  to  be  satisfied  with  his 
decision,  or  to  declare  him  their  enemy,  a  state 
of  things  equivalent  to  the  third  stage  of  a 
consumption.  Many,  who  had  been  wronged, 
had  recourse  to  him  to  do  them  justice ;  many 
had  recourse  to  him  again  who  had  not  been 
wronged,  to  secure  his  patronage,  and  to  shut 
up  all  approach  to  their  adversary ;  both  these 
classes  became  in  a  more  especial  manner  his 
dependents.  Sometimes  it  fell  out,  that  an 
oppressed  and  feeble  individual,  trampled 
upon,  and  embittered  by  some  powerful  per- 
son, flew  to  him ;  and  then  taking  the  part  of 
the  oppressed,  he  would  force  him  to  desist, 
to  repair  the  wrong,  and  even  descend  to  ex- 
cuse himself ;  or  refusing,  he  would  crush  him 
to  nothing,  and  compel  him  to  leave  the  place 
where  he  nad  tyrannized,  or  make  him  at  length 

;ay  a  more  expeditious  and  terrible  penalty, 
n  such  cases,  that  name  so  feared  and  so  ab- 
horred, had  been  blessed  for  a  moment ;  for  I 
will  not  call  it  justice,  but  such  a  remedy,  or 
reparation  of  any  kind,  in  the  circumstances 
of  the  times,  was  not  to  be  looked  for  from 
any  other  authority  or  force,  either  private  or 
public.  More  frequently,  and  indeed  general- 
ly, his  power  was  the  minister  of  iniquitous 
determinations,  of  atrocious  vengeances,  of  out- 
rageous capriciousness.  But  these  very  dif- 
ferent uses  of  his  power,  produced  but  one 
effect,  that  of  impressing  upon  the  minds  of 
others,  a  strong  idea  of  how  much  he  was 


F, 


capable  both  of  conceiving  and  executing  in 
spite  of  equity  and  iniquity,  those  two  consi- 
derations which  oppose  so  many  impediments 
to  the  will  of  man,  and  which  so  frequently  in- 
duce him  to  retrace  his  steps.  The  fame  of 
those  ordinary  tyrants  was  pretty  much  confi- 
ned to  the  limited  region  of  country,  where 
they  usually  or  very  frequently  committee 
their  enormities ;  every  district  had  its  own, 
and  they  resembled  each  other  so  much,  that 
there  was  no  inducement  whatever  for  peo- 
ple to  trouble  themselves  about  any,  the 
weight  of  whose  villanies  did  not  fall  exactly 
upon  themselves.  But  this  man's  fame  was 
diffused  through  every  corner  of  the  Milanese, 
every  where  his  life  was  the  subject  of  popu- 
lar stories,  and  his  name  was  significant  of 
something  extravagantly  powerful,  dark  and 
fabulous.  The  suspicion  that  every  where 
was  entertained  of  his  colleagues  and  cut- 
throats contributed  to  keep  alive  the  recollec- 
tion of  him.  It  is  true  they  were  only  sus- 
pected, for  who  would  openly  profess  a  depend- 
ance  on  such  a  man :  But  every  tyrant  could 
be  one  of  his  colleagues,  every  villain  one  of 
his  instruments,  and  this  very  uncertainty 
itself  made  the  opinion  of  the  thing  still 
more  vast,  and  the  terror  of  it  still  more  deep. 
And  whenever  any  unknown  ruffians  were 
observed  more  hideous  than  usual,  whenever 
any  enormity  was  committed  of  which  the 
author  could  not  be  guessed  at  first,  the  name 
of  this  man  was  murmured  forth,  who,  thanks 
to  the  blessed  circumspection  of  our  writers, 
we  are  compelled  to  call  the  Un-named. 

From  the  horrid  castle  of  this  man,  to  the 
palace  of  Don  Rodrigo,  it  was  not  more  than 
seven  miles ;  and  this  last,  scarcely  become  a 
master  and  a  tyrant,  could  not  but  perceive 
that  living  at  so  short  a  distance  from  this  per- 
sonage, it  was  not  possible  to  follow  that  pro- 
fession, without  either  coming  to  a  contest 
with  him,  or  acting  in  concert.  He  had  there- 
fore offered  himself,  and  had  become  his  friend, 
as  all  the  others  had  done.  He  had  rendered 
him  more  than  one  service,  (the  manuscript 
adds  no  more)  and  every  time  had  received 
promises  of  reciprocal  aid,  whenever  a  con- 
juncture should  arrive.  He  was  very  careful 
however  to  conceal  this  friendship,  or  at  least 
not  to  let  it  appear  of  how  close  a  nature  it  was. 
Don  Rodrigo  certainly  wanted  to  play  the  ty- 
rant himself,  but  not  the  savage  tyrant :  the 
trade  was  to  him  a  means,  not  an  end.  He 
was  desirous  of  living  freely  in  the  city,  of  en- 
joying his  comforts,  his  promenades,  the  ho- 
nors of  civil  life ;  and  for  this  reason  it  was  ne- 
cessary for  him  to  have  some  consideration  for 
his  connections,  to  cultivate  friendships  with 
respectable  persons,  to  have  a  hand  in  the 
balance  of  justice,  so  that  he  might  when  it 
was  necessary  weigh  it  down  in  his  own  fa- 
vor, or  put  it  out  of  the  way,  or  upon  occasion 
let  it  fall  upon  the  head  of  some  one,  and  thus 
more  easily  settle  an  affair  than  by  private 
violence.  An  open  intimacy  then,  indeed  we 
may  call  it  a  league,  with  so  notorious  a  per- 


126 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


son,  an  open  enemy  of  the  public  authority, 
certainly  would  not  have  consisted  with  the 
standing  he  wished  to  maintain  with  others, 
and  especially  with  the  count  uncle.  If  the 
intimacy  could  not  be  altogether  concealed,  it 
might  pass  off  as  an  indispensable  thing  to  a 
man  wnose  enmity  was  too  dangerous,  and 
thus  be  excused  bv  necessity:  for  those 
whose  duly  it  is  to  have  the  laws  observed, 
when  they  have  not  the  inclination  or  the 
means  to  discharge  that  duty,  consent  at  length 
that  others,  up  to  a  certain  point,  may  take 
care  of  themselves  as  they  can,  and  if  they  do 
not  expressly  consent  to  it,  at  least  they  shut 
one  eye  upon  the  fact. 

One  morning  Don  Rodrigo  went  out  on 
horseback,  with  his  hunting  train,  with  a  small 
escort  of  ruffians  on  foot,  Griso  at  the  stirrup, 
and  four  others  behind,  and  took  his  way  to  the 
castle  of  the  Un-named. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  castle  of  the  Un-named  was  advanta- 
geously placed  over  a  dark  and  narrow  valley, 
at  the  top  of  a  hill  that  jutted  from  a  sharp 
ridge  of  mountains ,  it  is  difficult  to  say  whe- 
ther it  was  joined  to  or  separated  from  them 
by  a  heap  of  mounds  and  steeps,  and  by  a 
labyrinth  of  caves  and  precipices,  as  well  in 
the  rear,  as  on  the  flanks :  on  the  side  fronting 
the  valley  was  the  only  practicable  approach, 
a  slope  somewhat  sharp,  but  level  and  contin- 
uous, with  some  pasturage  on  the  top ;  at  the 
skirts  below  it  was  cultivated  and  had  a  few 
habitations.  The  bottom  of  the  valley  was  a 
bed  of  rocks,  over  which,  as  the  season  was 
dry  or  wet  a  sort  of  torrent  ran,  which  was  the 
boundary  of  the  two  States.  The  opposite 
hills,  which  formed  the  other  side  of  the  val- 
ley, had  also  a  slope  gently  inclined  and  culti- 
vated, but  it  was  not  extensive ;  the  remainder 
was  constituted  of  rude  rocks  and  crags,  ab- 
rupt declivities,  naked  and  without  any  paths, 
save  where  a  few  bushes  were  growing  in  the 
fissures,  and  on  the  ridges  which  separated 
them. 

From  the  top  of  this  infamous  strong  place, 
its  savage  master,  like  an  eagle  from  his  bloody 
nest,  could  command  the  whole  space  around, 
wherever  human  footsteps  could  attain ;  above 
him,  the  tread  of  no  one  could  be  heard.  At 
the  turn  of  his  eye,  he  could  look  into  every 
part  of  his  abode,  the  declivities,  the  bottom 
and  the  roads  which  were  opened  in  it.  That 
with  its  angles  and  windings  which  ascended  to 
his  terrible  domicile,  in  its  whole  serpentine 
course,  could  be  seen  by  any  one  looking  down 
from  the  windows ;  from  the  loop-holes,  the 
master  could  at  his  ease  count  the  steps  of  any 
one  who  was  approaching,  and  observe  him  a 


hundred  times.  And  if  the  most  powerful 
troop  should  venture  to  assault  it,  with  the 
garrison  of  Bravo's  he  kept  there,  he  could  fell 
numbers  of  them  to  the  ground,  or  tumble  them 
to  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  ere  one  could  reach 
the  top.  As  to  the  rest,  no  one  was  daring 
enough — to  say  nothing  of  the  height — to  ven- 
ture into  the  valley,  not  even  when  on  a  jour- 
ney, without  he  was  on  friendly  terms  with 
the  master  of  the  castle.  Any  birri  who  dared 
to  show  himself,  would  have  been  treated  ex- 
actly as  spies  are  when  caught  in  camp.  Tra- 
gical stories  were  told  of  the  last  who  had 
made  attempts  of  that  kind,  but  they  were  al- 
ready old  stories  ;  not  one  of  the  young  peo- 
ple of  the  valley  remembered  having  seen  one 
of  that  race  there,  either  alive  or  dead. 

Such  is  the  description  our  anonymous  gives 
us  of  the  place,  saying  nothing  of  its  name ; 
and,  indeed,  to  leave  no  traces  by  which  we 
may  discover  it,  he  says  nothing  of  the  jour- 
ney of  Don  Rodrigo,  but  launches  him  at  once 
in  the  midst  of  the  valley,  at  the  foot  of  the  hill, 
just  where  the  tortuous  and  difficult  ascent  to 
the  castle  began.  There  was  an  inn  at  this 
place7,  which  might  as  well  have  been  called  a 
guard  house.  An  old  sign  which  was  hanging 
above  the  door,  had  a  sun  full  of  rays  painted 
on  both  sides :  but  the  public  voice,  which 
sometimes  repeats  names  as  it  is  taught, 
sometimes  shapes  them  after  its  own  fancy, 
called  this  inn  by  no  other  name  but  Malanotte.* 

At  the  trampling  of  ahorse  which  drew  near, 
a  sort  of  wretch  of  a  lad  appeared  at  the  door, 
well  armed  with  daggers  and  pistols,  and  giv- 
ing a  glance,  ran  in  to  inform  three  ruffians, 
who  were  seated  at  a  table  playing  with  some 
dirty  and  curled  up  cards.  The  man  who  ap- 
peared to  be  their  nead,  rose,  went  to  the  door, 
and  recognizing  one  of  his  master's  friends, 
bowed.  Don  Rodrigo,  returning  the  salute 
very  politely,  asked  him  if  his  master  was  at 
the  castle,  and  this  corporal  of  scoundrels  hav- 
ing answered  that  he  believed  he  was,  he  dis- 
mounted from  his  horse,  and  threw  the  reins 
to  Tiradritto,t  one  of  his  train.  He  then  took 
his  fowling  piece  from  his  shoulder,  and  gave 
it  to  Montanarolo.t  as  if  to  lighten  himself  of 
a  useless  load  in  going  up  the  hill,  but  in  fact, 
because  he  knew  very  well  no  one  was  per- 
mitted to  carry  arms  to  the  castle.  He  then 
took  from  his  pocket,  a  few  livres,  and  gave 
them  to  Tanabuso,§  saying  to  him,  "  The  rest 
of  you  will  wait  here  for  me,  and  make  your- 
selves merry  in  the  meantime  with  these  fine 
fellows."  He  next  gave  the  corporal  a  few 
crowns  of  gold,  telling  him  to  keep  one  half 
for  himself,  and  to  divide  the  rest  amongst  his 
companions;  this  being  done  he  began  the 
ascent,  taking  Griso  along  with  him,  who  had 
also  deposited  his  gun  at  the  inn.  In  the 
meantime  the  three  abovementioned  Bravo's 
and  Squinternotto,||  who  was  the  fourth,(pret- 
ty  names  these,  to  preserve  with  such  care) 


*  Bad  night.         f  Good  aim.        }  Highlander. 
V  Hollow  den.  ||  Disconcerted. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


127 


remained  with  the  three  belonging  to  the  Un- 
named, and  with  the  wretched  boy  that  had 
been  brought  up  to  the  gallows,  to  game,  to 
drink,  and  to  relate  stories  about  their  own 
prowess. 

Another  rascally  bravo  of  the  Un-named, 
who  was  going  up,  soon  after  joined  Don  Rod- 
rigo,  looKed  at  him,  knew  him,  and  went  on 
in  company,  and  thus  spared  him  the  annoy- 
ance of  telling  his  name,  and  of  giving  account 
of  himself  to  others  whom  they  might  meet  on 
the  road,  and  to  whom  he  was  unknown.  Hav- 
ing reached  the  castle,  and  entered  it,  leaving 
Griso  however  at  the  gate,  he  was  conducted 
through  a  labyrinth  of  obscure  corridors,  and 
through  halls,  with  their  walls  covered  with 
muskets,  sabres,  and  halberts,  and  in  every 
one  of  which,  there  was  a  bravo  on  guard  ; 
and  after  being  made  to  wait  some  time,  he 
was  admitted  into  the  room  where  the  Un- 
named was. 

Returning  the  salutation  of  Don  Rodrigo,  he 
rose  to  meet  him,  and  looked  at  him  from  top 
to  bottom,  especially  examining  his  hands  and 
face,  a  custom  so  habitual  with  him,  that  he 
observed  it  almost  involuntarily  with  all  who 
came,  even  if  they  were  his  oldest  and  most 
proved  friends.  His  person  was  tall,  he  look- 
ed dried  up,  and  was  bald.  At  first  sight  that 
baldness,  the  few  gray  hairs  that  he  had  left, 
and  the  furrows  onnis  countenance,  made  him 
look  as  if  he  had  advanced  far  beyond  the 
three  score  years  he  had  scarcely  reached :  his 
deportment  and  his  movements,  the  poignant 
austerity  of  his  lineaments,  and  a  deep  fire  that 
sparkled  from  his  eyes,  indicated  a  liveliness 
of  body  and  mind  that  would  have  been  extra- 
ordinary even  in  a  young  man. 

Don  Rodrigo  told  him  that  he  came  for  ad- 
vice and  aid,  that  he  was  engaged  in  a  difficult 
undertaking,  from  which  his  honor  did  not 
permit  him  to  withdraw,  that  the  promises  of 
the  man  who  never  pledged  himself  too  far 
nor  in  vain,  were  remembered  by  him,  and 
then  proceeded  to  explain  to  him  the  infamous 
nerplexity  in  which  he  was,  how  to  act.  The 
tin-named,  who  already  had  heard  something 
of  the  affair,  but  in  a  confused  way,  listened 
attentively,  such  stories  being  to  his  taste,  and 
because  a  name  was  implicated  in  this,  well 
known,  and  most  odious  to  him,  that  of  brother 
Christopher,  the  open  enemy  of  tyrants,  both 
in  word  and  deed,  wherever  he  could  be.  The 
narrator  then  began  to  magnify  the  difficulties 
of  the  undertaking,  the  distance  of  the  place, 
a  monastery,  the  Signora.  At  this,  the  un- 
named, as  if  a  demon  concealed  within  him, 
had  commanded  him  to  do  so,  immediately  in- 
terrupted him,  saying  that  he  took  the  enter- 
prize  into  his  own  hands.  He  took  down  the 
name  of  our  poor  Lucia,  and  dismissed  Don 
Rodrigo,  saying,  "  in  a  short  time  you  will  re- 
ceive from  me  information  of  what  you  ought 
to  do." 

If  the  reader  remembers  that  wretch  Egi- 
dio,  who  dwelt  near  the  monastery  where  Lu- 
cia had  sought  an  asylum,  he  must  now  learn 


that  he  was  one  of  the  most  confidential  ac- 
complices in  villany,  that  the  Un-named  had, 
and  this  was  the  reason  why  he  had  so  imme- 
diately and  resolutely  pledged  his  word.  Still, 
almost  the  instant  he  was  alone  again,  he  felt, 
1  will  not  say  penitent,  but  angry  at  having 
given  a  pledge.  For  some  time  past  he  had 
begun  to  experience,  if  not  remorse,  a  sense  of 
weariness  at  his  own  villanies.  They  had  ac- 
cumulated to  so  frightful  a  number,  that  his 
memory  at  least,  if  not  his  conscience,  took 
the  alarm  at  every  new  crime  he  committed, 
for  it  brought  them  before  his  mind  with  a  feel- 
ing that  they  were  both  painful  and  too  many ; 
it  was  like  adding  to  the  weight  of  a  load 
that  was  already  almost  intolerable.  That 
kind  of  repugnance  which  accompanied  his 
first  crimes,  but  which  he  had  conquered,  and 
which  was  almost  entirely  subdued,  was  again 
beginning  to  make  him  feel  its  influence.  At 
that  early  period  the  image  of  that  long  and 
boundless  future  before  him,  that  conscious- 
ness of  a  vigorous  vitality,  filled  his  mind  with 
a  thoughtless  sort  of  confidence  :  but  now,  his 
thoughts  of  the  future,  were  precisely  what 
made  the  past  ungrateful  to  him.  To  grow 
old! -to  die!  and  then?  It  is  a  remarkable 
thing,  that  the  thoughts  of  death,  which  in  any 
danger  at  hand,  in  front  of  the  enemy,  had  once 
roused  his  spirits,  and  infused  in  them  an 
anger  that  was  full  of  courage ;  now,  when 
they  came  to  him,  in  the  silence  of  night,  and 
amidst  the  security  of  his  castle,  filled  him 
with  immediate  dread.  It  was  not  that  death, 
which  an  enemy  could  threaten,  himself  being 
mortal ;  it  was  not  a  danger  to  be  repelled 
with  more  powerful  weapons,  or  a  more  ready 
arm  ;  it  came  alone,  it  sprung  up  from  within, 

Eerhaps  it  was  yet  distant,  but  every  moment 
rought  it  nearer;  and  whilst  his  soul  was 
painfully  struggling  to  drive  away  the  thought, 
death  was  approaching !  In  his  early  days, 
the  frequent  recurrence  of  his  misdeeds,  the 
perpetual  exhibition  of  violence,  vengeance, 
and  homicide,  inspiring  him  with  a  ferocious 
emulation,  had  also  served  him  as  a  sort  of 
authority  to  oppose  to  his  conscience :  now 
there  gradually  re-appeared  in  his  mind,  the 
confused,  but  terrible  idea,  of  individual  judg- 
ment, of  a  reason  independent  of  habit :  now, 
his  pre-eminence  above  the  vulgar  crowd  of 
murderers,  a  distinction  so  infamous,  awoke  in 
him  at  times  the  feeling  of  a  horrible  solitari- 
ness. That  God  of  whom  he  had  heard  speak, 
but  whom  for  a  long  time  he  had  not  cared 
either  to  deny  or  to  acknowledge,  occupied 
only  in  living  as  if  there  were  no  such  being ; 
now,  in  certain  moments  of  consternation,  pro- 
duced by  no  immediate  cause,  of  terror  with- 
out present  danger,  he  appeared  to  hear  call 
out  within  him,  "  I  exist  notwithstanding." 
In  the  first  fervor  of  his  passions,  the  law  that 
he  had  heard  announced  in  his  name,  had  ap- 
peared odious  to  him ;  now,  when  his  mind 
unexpectedly  reverted  to  it,  in  despite  of  him- 
self, nis  reason  told  him  it  was  a  thing  that 
must  be  fulfilled. 


128 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


Still  he  never  permitted  these  emotions  to 
appear,  either  in  words  nor  deeds,  he  buried 
them  deeply,  and  masked  them  over  with  the 
semblance  of  a  more  intense  ferocity  ;  in  this 
way  he  sought  too  to  hide  them  from  himself, 
to  stifle  them,  envying  (since  he  could  not  an- 
nihilate nor  forget)  those  days  in  which  he 
could  perpetrate  crimes  without  feeling  re- 
morse, navin»  no  solicitude  but  for  their  suc- 
cess :  he  made  every  effort  to  revive  them,  to 
lay  his  grasp  once  more  upon  his  ancient  en- 
tire, bold,  imperturbable  wiD,  to  convince  him- 
self that  he  was  still  the  same  man. 

Thus  upon  this  occasion,  he  had  instantly 
pledged  his  word  to  Don  Rodrigo,  to  close  the 
entrance  to  every  kind  of  hesitation.  But 
scarce  had  he  taken  his  leave,  feeling  that  re- 
soluteness which  he  had  called  up  to  promise, 
becoming  weak  again,  and  that  thoughts  were 
gradually  springing  up  in  his  mind,  which 
tempted  him  to  break  his  word,  and  which 
would  have  led  him  to  sink  himself  in  the  es- 
timation of  his  friend,  of  one  who  was  but  a 
secondary  accomplice — to  cut  short  the  painful 
struggle,  he  called  for  Nibbio,  one  of  the  most 
expert  and  desperate  instruments  of  his  enor- 
mities, and  the  man  whom  he  made  use  of  in 
his  correspondence  with  Egidio.  With  a  re- 
solute look  he  ordered  him  immediately  to  take 
to  horse,  to  proceed  instantly  to  Monza,  and 
inform  Egidio  of  tb*  engagement  he  had  con- 
tracted, and  that  he  relied  upon  him  for  direc- 
tions and  aid  to  accomplish  it. 

The  fellow  returned  sooner  than  he  was  ex- 
pected, with  the  answer  of  Egidio,  that  the 
undertaking  was  easy  and  secure :  that  the  Un- 
named should  immediately  send  a  carriage  that 
was  unknown,  with  two  or  three  Bravo's  dis- 
guised, and  that  he,  Egidio,  would  take  charge 
of  the  rest,  and  direct  the  affair.  On  receiving 
this  information,  the  Un-named,  whatever 
might  be  passing  in  his  mind,  gave  orders  in 
haste  to  Nibbio  himself,  that  every  thing  should 
be  arranged  accordingly,  and  that  he  nimself, 
with  two  others  whom  he  designated,  should 
constitute  the  expedition. 

If  the  execution  of  the  horrible  service 
which  had  been  required  of  him,  had  depend- 
ed upon  Egidio's  personal  means,  certainly  he 
would  not  have  given  such  an  unequivocal 
promise.  But  in  that  asylum,  where  every 
thing  appeared  to  present  an  obstacle,  the 
atrocious  youth  possessed  a  means  known  only 
to  himself,  and  that  which  would  have  proved 
the  greatest  obstacle  to  any  other,  was  the 
very  instrument  he  intended  to  make  use  of. 
We  have  stated  that  the  wretched  signora  once 
permitted  herself  to  speak  to  him,  and  the 
reader  may  have  comprehended  that  this  was 
not  the  only  time,  it  was  only  the  first  step  in 
a  life  of  abomination  and  blood.  The  voice  of 
this  man,  now  become  imperious,  and  indeed 
almost  authoritative  where  crime  was  concern- 
ed, now  imposed  upon  her  the  sacrifice  of  the 
innocent  creature  who  had  been  placed  under 
her  protection. 

The  proposition  was  a  dreadful  one  to  Ger- 


trude. To  lose  Lucia  by  any  unforeseen  acci- 
dent, without  any  fault  of  hers,  would  have 
been  felt  by  her  as  a  misfortune,  and  a  bitter 
punishment ;  and  now  she  was  enjoined  to  de- 
prive herself  of  her  by  a  perfidious  piece  of 
treachery,  and  to  convert  into  a  new  remorse, 
the  very  means  she  had  of  expiation.  The 
wretched  nun  attempted  every  way  to  exempt 
herself  from  the  horrible  command,  every  one 
except  the  one  which  would  have  been  infal- 
lible, and  which  she  had  in  her  own  power. 

Crime  is  a  master  both  rigid  and  inflexible, 
against  whom  no  one  can  resist,  who  does  not 
rebel  in  his  heart.  Gertrude  could  not  resolve 
to  do  this,  and  she  obeyed. 

The  day  was  fixed  upon,  the  hour  drew 
near ;  retired  with  Lucia  in  her  private  parlor, 
Gertrude  caressed  her  more  than  usual,  and 
Lucia  received  her  caresses  and  returned  them 
with  increasing  attachment;  like  the  lamb, 
which  trembling  without  fear  under  the  hand 
of  the  shepherd  whilst  feeling  its  flesh,  and 
gently  stroking  it  down,  turns  to  lick  his 
hands,  unsuspecting  that  the  butcher  is  wait- 
ing out  of  the  fold,  te  whom  its  shepherd  has 
sold  it  a  moment  before. 

"  I  stand  in  need  of  a  particular  service, 
and  you  only  can  render  it  to  me.  Many  are 
ready  to  obey  me,  bu1J[  have  no  one  in  whom 
I  can  confine.  For  a  very  important  matter 
of  my  own,  which  I  will  communicate  to 
you  afterwards,  I  wish  to  speak  instantly, 
without  the  loss  of  a  moment,  with  that  father 
guardian  of  the  capuchins,  who  conducted 
you  here  to  me,  my  poor  Lucia ;  but  no  one 
must  know  that  I  have  sent  to  seek  him.  I 
have  no  one  but  you  to  do  this  embassy  secret- 
ly—" 

Lucia  was  frightened  at  such  a  request  and 
with  her  peculiar  bashfulness,  but  not  without 
a  strong  expression  of  surprise,  urged,  in  or- 
der to  excuse  herself,  such  reasons  as  the 
signora  could  understand,  and  which  she  ought 
to  have  forseen.  Without  her  mother,  without 
an  escort,  by  a  solitary  road,  in  an  unknown 
country. — But  Gertrude,  instructed  in  an  in- 
fernal school,  showed  so  much  surprise  her- 
self, and  so  much  displeasure  to  discover  a 
reluctance  in  one  whom  she  had  been  so  be- 
nevolent to,  and  found  all  these  excuses  so  in- 
sufficient.— In  full  day,  a  few  steps,  a  road  that 
Lucia  had  come  a  few  days  before  ;  and  which, 
by  description,  could  not  be  mistaken  by  any 
one  who  had  even  never  seen  it ! — She  said  so 
much  that  the  poor  girl,  touched  with  grati- 
tude and  shame  at  the  same  time,  permitted 
the  words  to  escape  from  her  mouth,  "  Well, 
what  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?" 

"  Go  to  the  convent  of  the  capuchins,"  and 
here  she  described  the  road  again,  "  Have  the 
father  guardian  called,  tell  him  to  come  im- 
mediately to  me,  but  that  he  must  let  no  one 
know  I  have  sent  for  him." 

"But  what  shall  I  say  to  the  fattora,  who 
has  never  seen  me  go  out,  and  will  ask  me 
where  I  am  going?" 

[  Continued  m  No.  3.  ] 


THE  METROPOLITAN; 

A.  MISCELLANY   OP    LITERATURE    AND   SCIENCE* 


Vol*  II. 


Washington,  July  5,  1834. 


TSo.  3. 


"Try  to  get  out  without  being  seen,  and 
if  you  don't  succeed,  say  that  you  are  going 
to  such  a  church,  where  you  have  promised  to 
say  an  orison." 

To  tell  a  lie  was  a  new  difficulty  to  poor  Lu- 
cia, but  the  signora  seemed  again  so  distressed 
at  the  repulse,  and  made  her  so  ashamed  of 
preferring  a  vain  scruple  to  gratitude,  that  the 
poor  girl,  astounded  more  than  convinced,  and 
above  all  moved  by  her  words,  answered, 
"  Well,  I  will  go,  God  protect  me,"  and  she 
went. 

Gertrude  watched  her  with  a  «teady  and 
troubled  eye  from  the  grate,  but  when  she  saw 
her  put  her  foot  on  the  threshhold,  as  if  over- 
come by  an  irresistible  feeling,  she  moved  her 
lips,  and  said,  "  Hear,  Lucia !" 

Lucia  returned  to  the  grate,  but  already  an- 
other thought,  one  that  was  accustomed  to  ty- 
rannize in  her  breast,  had  got  the  ascendency  in 
Gertrude's  wretched  mind.  Affecting  not  to 
be  satisfied  with  the  instructions  she  had  given 
her,  she  repeated  the  directions  for  the  road 
Lucia  was  to  take,  and  dismissed  her,  saying, 
"  Do  every  thing  as  I  told  you,  and  return  di- 
rectly." 

Lucia  got  out  of  the  cloisters  unobserved, 
followed  the  street  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground, 
kept  close  to  the  wall,  and  with  the  aid  of  the 
directions  she  had  received,  and  her  own  re- 
collections, found  the  gate  of  the  suburb,  and 
passed  it.  On  she  went,  shrinking  within  her- 
self, and  somewhat  trembling,  to  gain  the 
main  road,  and  soon  reached,  and  recognized  it. 

The  road  was  then,  and  is  still,  somewhat 
sunk  down,  like  the  bed  of  a  river,  between 
two  high  banks  with  trees  on  each  side,  that 
extended  themselves  over  it  like  a  bower. 
Seeing  it  so  solitary,  her  fear  increased,  and 
she  quickened  her  pace,  but  after  a  short  time 
she  got  a  little  courage  again,  perceiving  a 
traveling  carriage  standing  still  in  the  road, 
and  near  it,  before  the  open  door,  two  travel- 
ers who  were  looking  about  as  if  they  were 
uncertain  of  the  road.  Being  come  nearer  to 
it,  she  heard  one  of  them  say,  "  Here  is  a 
good  woman  who  will  tell  us  the  road."  In  fact, 
when  she  had  got  to  the  carriage,  with  a  man- 
ner having  more  courtesy  in  it  than  his  coun- 
tenance warranted,  he  said  to  her,  "Young 
woman,  could  you  direct  us  the  road  to  Mon- 
za?" 

"  Your  carriage  is  turned  the  wrong  way," 
answered  the  poor  girl, "  Monza  lies  in  this  di- 
rection," and  she  turned  round  to  point  with 
her  finger,  when  the  other  fellow  (it  was  Nib- 


bio)  seizing  her  unawares  by  the  waist,  lifted 
her  from  the  ground.  Lucia  frightened,  turn- 
ed her  head  round  and  screamed  out.  The 
ruffian  put  her  into  the  carriage,  another  who 
was  inside  took  her,  and  whilst  she  was  in 
vain  struggling  and  screaming,  placed  her  on 
the  seat  opposite  to  himself,  whilst  a  third 
putting  a  handkerchief  over  her  mouth,  pre- 
Vented  her  cries.  In  the  meantime  Nibbio  in 
haste  got  also  into  the  carriage,  the  door  was 
shut,  and  it  set  off  full  drive.  The  other  fellow 
who  had  made  the  perfidious  inquiry  about 
Monza,  remained  in  fee  road,  looked  carefully 
around,  and  perceiving  no  one,  sprung  up  the 
bank,  and  seizing  a  branch  of  one  of  the  trees 
planted  on  the  top,  reached  it,  and  entered  a 
copse  of  oaks,  growing  along  the  road  for 
some  distance,  and  concealed  himself  there, 
that  he  might  not  be  seen  by  the  people  who 
might  be  brought  there  by  the  screams.  This 
man  was  one  of  the  scoundrels  in  the  employ- 
ment of  Egidio  :  he  had  watched  the  gate  of 
the  monastery,  had  seen  Lucia  come  out,  had 
remarked  her  dress  and  figure,  and  had  run  by 
a  short  road  to  the  place  where  the  other  fel- 
lows were  with  the  carriage. 

Who  can  describe  her  terror  and  anguish,  or 
paint  what  was  passing  on  her  mind?  She 
opened  her  terror-struck  eyes,  from  anxiety 
to  be  apprized  of  her  horrible  situation,  and 
closed  them  immediately  in  dismay  at  their  ruf- 
fian like  visages.  She  struggled,  but  she  was 
held  fast,  she  gathered  all  ner  strength,  and 
made  an  endeavor  to  get  to  the  door,  but  two 
nervous  arms  held  her  fast  in  the  back  of  the 
carriage,  whilst  the  others  kept  her  still.  Every 
time  she  was  preparing  to  scream,  the  handker- 
chief was  applied  to  her  mouth.  In  the  mean- 
time three  nellish  voices,  kept  repeating,  in  as 
humane  a  way  as  they  were  able  to  do,  "  Si- 
lence, silence,  don't  be  afraid,  we  won't  hurt 
you."  After  some  moments,  after  a  struggle 
of  so  much  anguish,  she  appeared  more  tran- 
quil, let  fall  her  arms,  her  head  dropped  back- 
wards, her  eye-lids  scarcely  moved,  and  her 
eye-balls  became  fixed.  The  dreadful  visages 
before  her,  appeared  to  be  giddily  waving 
about,  and  to  confound  themselves  into  one 
monstrous  horror;  the  color  fled  from  her 
cheeks,  a  cold  sweat  came  over  her,  and  she 
fainted  away.  "  Come,  come,  courage,"  said 
Nibbio,  "Courage,  courage,"  repeated  Ihe 
other  villains,  but  the  suspension  of  every 
sense  prevented  Lucia  at  that  moment,  from 
hearing  the  comfort  that  issued  from  their 
atrocious  voices. 

129 


ISO 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


"  The  devil !  she  seems  dead,"  said  one  of 
them,  "  what  if  she  really  is  dead  ?" 

"  Stuff!"  said  the  other,  "  it's  one  of  those 
faintings  that  women  have.  I  know  when 
I  have  had  to  send  some  one  to  the  other 
world,  whether  man  or  woman,  something 
else  had  to  be  done  besides  this." 

"Mind  your  duty,"  said  Nibbio,  "  and  dont 
trouble  yourself  with  any  thing  else.  Take 
the  trombones  out  of  the  carriage  seat,  and  put 
them  in  order,  there  are  always  some  thieves 
harboring  in  the  wood  we  are  approaching. 
Dont  keep  them  in  your  hand  so,  the  devil! 
place  them  behind  there,  lay  them  down  there, 
dont  you  see,  she  is  like  a  chick  in  the  rain, 
she  can't  stand  any  thing ;  if  she  sees  real 
arms,  she  may  die  in  good  earnest.  And  when 
she  comes  to  herself  again,  mind  and  don't 
frighten  her.  Don't  touch  her  unless  I  motion 
you  to  do  it,  I  can  hold  her  without  you.  And 
silence,  leave  it  to  me  to  speak." 

In  the  meantime,  the  carriage,  going  on  at 
the  same  pace,  entered  the  wood. 

After  sometime  the  poor  girl  began  to  come 
to  herself,  as  from  a  deep  and  troubled  sleep, 
and  opened  her  eyes.  It  was  difficult  for  her 
at  first  to  distinguish  the  lurid  objects  which 
surrounded  her,  and  to  collect  her  thoughts,  at 
length  she  remembered  her  dreadful  situation. 
The  first  use  she  made  of  the  return  of  her 
feeble  strength,  was  to  throw  herself  towards 
the  door  to  rush  out,  but  she  was  prevented, 
aad  could  only  get  a  momentary  glimpse  of  the 
savage  wildness  of  the  place  'they  were  pas- 
sing through  ;  again  she  screamed,  but  Nibbio 
raising  the  handkerchief  with  his  rude  hand, 
"  Come,"  said  he  to  her,  as  softly  as  he  could, 
"  be  quiet,  it  will  be  better  for  you,  we  are  not 
going  to  hurt  you,  but  if  you  won't  be  silent, 
we  must  force  you  to  be  so." 

"  Let  me  go !  Who  are  you  ?  Where  are  you 
taking  me  ?  Why  have  you  taken  me  ?  Let 
me  go  !  let  me  go  !" 

"Dont  be  afraid,  I  tell  you,  you  are  not  a 
baby,  and  ought  to  comprehend  that  we  don't 
want  to  hurt  you.  Don't  you  see  that  we 
could  have  killed  you  a  hundred  times,  if  we 
had  any  bad  intentions  ?  Be  quiet  then." 

1 '  No,  no,  let  me  go  on  my  way  ;  I  don't 
knowyou." 

"  We  know  you  very  well." 
^  "  Oh,  most  holy  virgin  !  let  me  go,  for  cha- 
rity's sake.    Who  are  you  ?  Why  have  you 
taken  me  ?" 

"  Because  we  were  ordered  to  do  it." 

"  Who,  who,  ordered  you  ? 

"  Silence  !"  said  Nibbio  with  a  severe  look, 
you  must  not  ask  us  questions  of  this  kind." 

Lucia  tried  once  more  to  spring  suddenly  to 
the  door,  but  seeing  it  was  in  vain,  she  again 
had  recourse  to  intreaties,  and  with  her  face 
drooping,  with  the  tears  running  down  her 
cheeks,  with  her  voice  interrupted  by  sobs, 
with  her  hands  joined  before  her  lips,  said, 
"  Oh  !  for  the  love  of  God  and  the  holy  virgin, 
let  me  go  !  What  harm  have  I  done  to  you  ?  I 
am  a  poor  creature  that  has  done  you  no  hurt. 


What  you  have  done  to  me,  I  forgive  with  all 
my  heart,  and  I  shall  pray  to  God  for  you.  If 
you  also  have  a  daughter,  a  wife,  or  a  mother, 
think  of  what  she  would  suffer  in  my  situation. 
Remember  that  we  must  all  die,  and  that  some 
day  you  will  have  to  ask  God  to  be  merciful  to 
you.  Let  me  go,  leave  me  here ;  the  Lord  will 
teach  me  how  to  find  the  road. 

"We  can't  doit." 

"  You  can't,  Oh,  sir,  why  can't  you  do  it  ? 
Where  are  you  going  to  take  me  ?  Why >'" 

"  We  can't,  it  is  useless ;  don't  be  afraid, 
we  won't  hurt  you,  be  quiet,  and  no  one  will 
touch  you." 

Grieved,  agonized,  frightened,  more  than 
ever,  from  seeing  that  she  could  make  no  im- 
pression on  them,  Lucia  turned  her  thoughts 
to  him  who  holds  the  hearts  of  men  in  his 
hands,  and  who  is  able,  when  he  pleases,  to 
soften  the  hardest  of  them.  She  snrunk  into 
the  corner  where  she  had  got,  crossed  her 
arms  over  her  breast,  and  prayed  fervently  in 
her  heart,  and  taking  her  rosary  from  her 
pocket,  began  to  tell  her  beads  with  more  de- 
votion than  she  had  ever  done  in  her  life.  From 
time  to  time,  hoping  to  have  obtained  the  mer- 
cy she  was  seeking  for,  she  again  began  to 
entreat  them,  but  it  was  in  vain.  Her  senses 
again  forsook  her,  and  again  she  revived  to 
new  anguish.  But  of  a  truth  we  have  not 
spirits  to  describe  all  that  she  suffered,  our 
compassion  is  of  too  feeling  a  nature  to  permit 
us  to  do  ought  but  hasten  to  the  conclusion  of 
the  journey,  which  lasted  more  than  four  hours, 
and  was  succeeded  by  other  hours  of  anguish, 
which  we  shall  have  to  relate.  Let  us  trans- 
port ourselves  to  the  castle  where  the  unhappy 
girl  is  expected. 

The  Un-named  was  expecting  her,  with 
solicitude,  and  an  unusual  hesitation  of  mind. 
A  strange  thing !  He,  who  with  an  unperturbed 
heart  had  disposed  of  so  many  lives,  who  in  so 
many  deeds  done  by  him,  had  counted  as  no- 
thing the  agonies  he  had  inflicted,  except  to 
augment  his  savage  voluptuousness  of  ven- 
geance, now,  respecting  the  power  he  exercis- 
ed over  this  Lucia,  an  unknown,  insignificant 
country  girl,  felt  an  apprehension,  a  reluctance, 
I  would  almost  say  a  terror.  From  an  eleva- 
ted window  of  his  castle  he  had  been  for  some 
time  looking  out  towards  the  end  of  the  valley, 
and  at  length  saw  the  carriage  appear,  but 
with  a  slow  pace,  the  velocity  with  which  they 
had  traveled,  having  somewnat  abated  the  ac- 
tivity of  the  horses ;  and  although,  from  the 
distance  at  which  it  appeared,  it  did  not  look 
larger  than  one  of  those  toys  that  children 
amuse  themselves  with,  still  he  knew  it  at  once, 
and  felt  his  heart  beat  still  stronger.  Is  she  in 
it? — thought  he — what  trouble  she  gives  me — 
I  must  get  rid  of  her. 

And  Tie  was  about  to  despatch  one  of  his 
fellows  to  meet  the  carriage  and  order  Nibbio 
to  turn  and  conduct  her  to  the  palace  of  Don 
Rodrigo.  But  an  imperious  no  that  spoke  to 
him  from  the  recesses  of  his  mind,  prevented 
him ;  tormented  however  with  an  inclination 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


131 


to  give  orders  of  some  kind,  and  the  suspense 
of  waiting  for  the  carriage  which  was  coming 
on  pace  by  pace,  like  some  piece  of  treachery, 
becoming  intolerable  to  him,  he  ordered  an  old 
female  of  the  castle  to  be  called. 

This  old  woman,  the  daughter  of  an  ancient 
keeper  of  the  castle,  was  born  in  it,  and  had 
lived  there  all  her  life.  What  she  had  seen 
and  heard  there  from  her  infancy,  had  impress- 
ed upon  her  mind,  a  magnificent  and  terrible 
idea  of  the  power  of  her  masters,  and  the  prin- 
cipal maxim  she  had  learnt  both  from  precept 
and  example,  was,  that  obedience  was  neces- 
sary upon  all  occasions,  for  they  were  able  both 
to  punish  and  reward  in  the  highest  degree. 
The  idea  of  duty,  deposited  like  a  germ  in  the 
hearts  of  all,  and  developing  itself  in  hers  with 
sentiments  of  respect,  terror,  and  servile  cupi- 
<lity,  kad  associated  and  identified  itself  with 
these.  When  the  Un-named,  once  become 
master,  had  begun  to  make  such  dreadful  use 
of  his  power,  she  experienced  at  first  a  kind  of 
shivering  repugnance,  but  also  a  deeper  feel- 
ing of  submission.  In  time  she  got  accustom- 
ed to  what  she  saw,  and  what  she  heard  spok- 
en of  every  day  :  the  potent  and  unbridled  will 
of  such  a  master  was  to  her  a  kind  of  fatal 
justice.  When  she  grew  up,  she  had  married 
one  of  his  servants,  who  soon  after,  being  gone 
on  an  adventurous  expedition,  had  left  his 
bones  on  the  road,  and  had  left  her  a  widow  in 
the  castle.  The  vengeance  which  her  master 
soon  took  for  his  death,  gave  her  a  ferocious 
sort  of  consolation,  and  increased  her  proud 
feeling  at  being  under  such  protection.  From 
that  time  she  seldom  stirred  out  of  the  castle, 
and  by  degrees  scarce  any  ideas  of  the  usages 
of  humaaity  remained  with  her,  save  those  she 
had  received  there.  She  had  uo  particular 
duty  to  perform,  but  amongst  such  a  crew  of 
scoundrels,  first  one  and  then  the  other, 
was  employing  her,  a  thing  which  she  detest- 
ed. Sometimes  she  had  their  rags  to  mend, 
then  to  prepare  food  for  those  returning  from 
an  expedition,  oftentimes  she  had  their  wounds 
to  dress ;  their  commands  too,  their  reproach- 
es, and  their  thanks  were  accompanied  with 
rude  jokes  and  vulgarities ;  old  dame  was  the 
usual  appellative  they  gave  her,  the  additions 
to  this,  which  were  never  wanting,  varied  ac- 
cording to  circumstances,  and  the  humor  of 
the  individual.  Disturbed  in  her  sloth,  and 
provoked  when  angry,  two  dominant  passions 
with  her,  she  sometimes  exchanged  compli- 
ments of  this  kind  with  them,  in  which  satau 
would  have  recognized  more  of  his  own  inven- 
tions, than  in  those  of  her  antagonists. 

"Dost  thou  see  that  carriage  below?'"  said 
her  master  to  her. 

"  I  see  it,"  answered  she,  stretching  out  her 
meagre  chin,  and  starting  her  eyes  from  their 
sunken  cavities,  as  if  she  would  force  them  to 
the  edge  of  their  sockets. 

"  Have  a  litter  got  ready  instantly,  get  into 
it,  and  have  thyselt  carried  down  to  Malanotte, 
instantly,  without  loss  of  a  moment,  that  thou 
mayst  get  there  before  the  carriage,  it  is  com- 


ing on  there  with  the  pace  of  death.  In  that 
carriage  there  is — there  ought  to  be — a  young 
girl.  If  there  is,  tell  Nibbio  it  is  my  orders 
that  she  be  placed  in  the  litter,  and  that  he 
comes  here  immediately  to  me.— Thou  wilt 
get  into  the  litter  with  her,  and  when  you  have 
reached  the  castle,  take  her  to  thy  chamber. 
If  she  asks  thee  where  they  are  taking  her, 
or  whose  castle  this  is,  be  careful  not  to—" 

"  Oh !"  said  the  old  woman. 

"  But,"  continued  the  Un-named, "  keep  up 
her  spirits." 

"  What  shall  I  say  to  her  ?" 

"  What  shalt  thou  say  to  her  ?  keep  up  her 
spirits,  I  tell  thee.  Hast  thou  got  to  this  age 
without  knowing  how  to  encourage  others 
when  thou  wantest  to  do  so  ?  Hast  thou  ever 
felt  anguish  at  heart  ?  Dost  thou  not  know  what 
words  give  consolation  at  such  moments  ?  Say 
some  of  these  things  to  her,  find  them  in  the 
memory  of  thy  own  sorrows.  Quick,  be  gone." 

As  soon  as  she  had  left  the  room  he  stopped 
a  while  at  the  window  with  his  eyes  fixed  up- 
on the  carriage,  which  now  appeared  more 
distinctly,  then  looked  at  the  sun  which  at  that 
very  instant  was  sinking  behind  the  moun- 
tains, and  cast  a  glance  at  the  clouds  above, 
which  changed  from  brown  to  livid  fire.  He 
now  closed  the  window,  and  began  to  pace  the 
room  backwards  and  forwards  with  the  hurried 
step  of  a  traveler. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE  old  woman  ran  to  obey,  and  to  issue 
commands  with  the  authority  of  that  name, 
which,  by  whoever  it  was  pronounced,  gave  a 
spur  to  every  one  in  the  castle,  for  it  never 
entered  into  the  thoughts  of  any  one  that 
others  would  dare  to  utter  it  without  being  au- 
thorised to  do  so.  In  fact  she  got  to  Malauotte 
a  little  before  the  carriage,  and  seeing  it  ap- 
approach  she  got  out  of  the  litter,  made  signs 
to  the  coachman  to  stop,  drew  near  to  the  door, 
and  whispered  to  Nibbio — who  put  his  head 
out — the  will  of  their  master. 

Lucia,  when  the  carriage  stopped,  roused 
herself  and  came  out  of  a  kind  of  lethargy.  She 
experienced  a  new  assault  of  terror,  opened 
her  eyes  and  mouth,  and  stared.  Nibbio  now 
drew  back,  and  the  old  woman,  with  her  chin 
on  the  door,  looking  at  Lucia,  said  "  Come,  .. 
my  young  maid,  come,  my  poor  young  thing, 
come  with  me,  I  have  orders  to  beat  you  well, 
and  to  cheer  you  up.'* 

At  the  sound  of  a  female  voice,  the  poor  girl 
experienced  some  comfort,  and  a  momentary 
courage,  but  soon  a  deeper  dread  overcame 
her.  "  Who  are  you  ?"  said  she,  with  a  tremb- 
ling voice,  looking  with  astonishment  upon 
the  countenance  of  the  old  woman. 

"  Come,  come,  poor  thing,"  she  kept  re- 
peating. Nibbio  and  the  other  two,  supposing 
from  the  words  and  the  extraordinary  gentle 


132 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


tone  of  the  old  woman,  what  the  intentions  of 
their  master  were,  endeavored,  in  a  kind  man- 
ner, to  persuade  the  oppressed  girl  to  obey. 
But  she  looked  out,  and  although  the  wild  and 
unknown  nature  of  the  place,  and  the  perfect 
security  in  which  her  keepers  were,  left  her 
no  room  to  hope  for  succor,  still  she  opened 
her  mouth  to  scream ;  but  perceiving  Nibbio 
threatening  her  with  his  eyes  to  apply  the 
handkerchief  again,  she  remained  silent  trem- 
bled, resisted,  was  taken  and  put  in  the  litter. 
The  old  woman  got  into  it  alter  her,  Nibbio 
left  the  other  two  fellows  to  follow  it  as  an  es- 
cort, and  immediatly  began  the  ascent,  to  obey 
the  call  of  his  master. 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  anxiously  asked  Lucia  of 
the  deformed  and  unknown  old  hag,  "  Why 
am  I  here  with  you  ?  Where  am  I  ?  Where  are 
you  taking  me  ?" 

"  To  one  who  will  be  kind  to  you,"  replied 
the  old  woman,  "  to  a  great — happy  are  they 
to  whom  he  is  kind  !  it  is  a  happy  thing  for 
you,  a  happy  thing  for  you.  Dont  be  afraid, 
be  cheerful,  he  has  commanded  me  to  keep  up 
your  spirits.  Won't  you  tell  him,  eh?  that  I 
nave  fried  to  give  you  courage  ?" 

"  Who  is  he  ?  Why,  what  does  he  want  of 
me  ?  I  don't  belong  to  him.  Tell  me  where  I 
am ;  let  me  go ;  tell  these  men  to  let  me  go, 
tell  them  to  take  me  to  some  church.  Oil ! 
you  who  are  a  woman,  in  the  name  of  the  vir- 
gin Mary !" 

That  holy  and  sweet  name,  repeated  with 
so  much  veneration  in  her  early  years,  and 
now  for  so  long  a  period  never  invoked,  per- 
haps never  heard,  produced  in  the  mind  ol  the 
wretched  creature  who  now  heard  it,  a  con- 
fused, strange,  slumbering  impression,  like  the 
remembrance  of  light  and  forms,  in  the  mind 
of  some  old  person  mind  from  infancy. 

In  the  mean-time,  the  Un-named,  standing 
at  the  gate  of  his  castle,  looked  below,  and 
saw  the  litter  coming  up,  as  he  at  first  saw  the 
carriage,  step  by  step,  and  before  it,  at  a  dis- 
tance, which  he  every  instant  increased,  Nib- 
bio hurrying  on.  As  soon  as  he  had  reached 
the  top — "  Come  here,"  said  his  master,  and 
going  Wore  him  entered  one  of  the  rooms  of 
tie  castle. 

"  Well  ?"  said  he,  stopping  there. 

"  Every  thing  happened  right."  answered 
Nibbio  bowing,  "  We  got  our  instructions  in 
season,  the  young  woman  came  at  the  nick  of 
time,  no  one  upon  the  place,  a  single  scream 
•  which  brought  no  one,  the  coachman  ready, 
the  horses  in  good  order,  and  no  one  on  the 
road:  but '? 

"  But  what  ?" 

"  But — I  must  tell  the  truth,  I  should  have 
liked  much  better  if  my  orders  had  been  to 
fire  a  blunderbuss  into  her  back,  without  hear- 
ing her  say  a  word,  or  without  looking  her  in 
the  face." 

"  How  ?  what  ?  what  dost  thou  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  to  say,  that  the  whole  time,  every 
minute  of  the  time— she  made  me  feel  too 
much  compassion." 


"  Compassion  !  What  dost  thou  know  of 
compasiion?  What  is  compassion?" 

"  I  never  knew  what  it  was  so  well  as  this 
time ;  compassion  is  a  thing  very  much  like 
fear,  if  a  man  lets  it  take  possession  of  him,  he 
is  no  longer  a  man." 

"  Let  me  hear  how  she  acted  to  move  thee 
to  compassion." 

"  Most  illustrious  sir !  for  so  long  a  time — ! 
such  weeping,  such  praying,  such  looks,  and 
then  pale,  pale  as  death,  and  such  sobbing, 
and  then  praying  again,  and  such  words  as 
she  used — "  • 

She  shan't  stay  in  this  house — thought  the 
Un-named.  It  was  in  an  unlucky  moment  I 
engaged  in  this  affair ;  but  I  have  promised — 
have  promised.  When  she  is  afar  oft— and 
lifting  his  head  with  an  imperious  air,  he  said 
to  Nibbio,  "Put  thy  compassion  aside  now, 
mount,  take  a  companion,  two  if  thou  likest, 
and  go  till  thou  reachest  the  residence  of  that 
Don  Rodrigo,  thou  knowest  whom  I  mean. 
Tell  him  to  send  immediately,  instant!}',  other- 
wise— " 

But  another  no  from  the  voice  within,  still 
more  imperious  than  the  last,  did  not  permit 
him  to  finish.  "  No,"  he  exclaimed  with  a 
determined  voice,  as  if  he  were  delivering  to 
himself  the  command  of  the  secret  monitor, 
"  no,  go  repose  thyself,  and  tomorrow — thou 
shalt  execute  what  I  have  told  thee ! " — 
She  has  a  demon  who  serves  her — he  thought, 
when  he  was  left  alone,  standing  with  his 
arms  crossed  over  his  breast,  and  with  his 
eyes  immovably  fixed  upon  a  spot  on  the 
floor,  where  the  rays  of  the  moon,  entering  by 
a  high  window,  depicted  a  square  of  pale 
light  checquered  by  the  shade  of  the  thick 
iron  bars,  and  cut  into  diamond  forms  by  the 
small  panes  of  window  glass. — Some  demon 
or — some  angel  who  protects  her — .  Inspire 
Nibbio  with  compassion !  Tomorrow,  tomor- 
row betimes  she  shall  leave  this,  she  shall  go  to 
her  destiny,  she  shall  be  no  more  spoken  of; 
and — he  continued  to  himself,  with  that  sort 
of  resolution  that  a  command  is  given  to  an  in- 
tractable boy,  knowing  he  will  not  obey — and 
she  shall  be  no  more  thought  of.  That  ani- 
mal Don  Rodrigo  shall  not  come  to  trouble  me 
with  his  thanks — I  will  not  hear  her  spoken  of 
any  more.  I  have  served  him  because — be- 
cause I  have  promised  to  do  so ;  because — it 
was  destiny  in  me.  But  he  shall  pay  me  well 
for  this  service.  Let  me  see  a  little — 

He  was  beginning  to  contrive  in  his  mind 
some  difficult  undertaking  to  impose  upon 
Don  Rodrigo  as  a  return,  and  indeed  as  a  pun- 
ishment, but  again  those  words  began  to  cross 
his  mind, — compassion  in  Nibbio ! — How  has 
she  effected  this  ? — he  continued,  led  on  by 
the  thought.  I  will  see  her.  No,  no.  Yes,  I 
will  see  her. 

And  leaving  the  room,  he  went  to  a  small 
stair  case,  and  softly  mounting,  he  reached 
the  door  of  the  old  woman's  room,  and  struck 
with  his  foot  against  the  door. 

"Who  is  there?" 


I  PROMESSI  SPOS1. 


133 


"Open," 

The  old  woman  made  but  three  jumps  at 
the  sound  of  that  voice,  and  instantly  the  noise 
of  removing  the  fastening  was  heard,  and  the 
door  was  thrown  wide  open.  The  Un-named 
cast  a  look  into  the  room,  and  by  the  light  of 
a  lamp  which  was  burning  upon  a  stand,  he 
perceived  Lucia  on  the  floor,  drawn  up  into 
the  farthest  corner  from  the  door. 

"  Who  told  thee,  thou  base  creature,  to  fline 
her  on  the  floor  like  a  bundle  of  rags  ?"  said 
he  to  the  old  woman,  with  an  angry  look. 

"She  has  placed  herself  just  where  she 
liked,"  answered  the  old  woman,  humbly. 
"  I  have  done  all  I  could  to  comfort  her,  she 
can  tell  you  so,  but  it  is  impossible." 

"  Rise,"  said  he  to  Lucia,  approaching  her. 
But  she,  into  whose  alarmed  mind,  the  knock 
at  the  door,  the  opening  of  it,  the  sound  of  his 
foot-step,  and  his  voice,  had  carried  a  still 
darker  and  deeper  dread,  drew  herself  up  still 
closer  into  the  corner,  with  her  face  hid  in  the 
palms  of  her  hands,  aid  there  remained  with- 
out motion,  save  in  the  trembling  that  over- 
came her. 

"  Rise,  I  do  not  mean  to  hurt  you — and  I 
can  do  you  good,"  he  repeated.  "  Rise,"  he 
thundered  forth,  incensed  at  having  commanded 
twice  in  vain.  Re-invigorated  now  by  her 
own  terror,  the  wretched  maid  threw  herself 
on  her  knees,  and  joining  her  hands  together, 
as  if  she  were  before  some  sacred  image,  she 
lifted  her  eyes  up  to  the  face  of  the  Un-named, 
and  dropping  them  again,  said  "  I  am  here, 
kiH  me." 

"I  have  told  you  that  I  do  not  mean  to 
harm  you,"  replied  the  Un-named  with  a  gen- 
tle voice,  examining  her  features,  disturbed  by 
grief  and  terror. 

"  Courage,  courage,"  said  the  old  woman, 
"  When  he  tells  you  bimself  he  does  not  mean 
to  harm  yon." 

"  And  why,"  said  Lucia  with  a  voice,  where 
the  tremor  of  terror  was  mingled  with  the  con- 
fidence given  by  the  despair  of  indignation, 
"  Why  do  you  make  me  suffer  the  pains  of 
hell  ?  What  have  I  done  ?" 
"  Have  they  behaved  ill  to  you  ?  Speak." 
"Ill  to  me!  have  they  not  seized  me  by 
treachery,  by  force.    Why,  why  have  they 
seized  me  ?  What  am  I  here  for  ?  what  have  I 
done  ?  In  the  name  of  God — " 

"God,  God,"  interrupted  the  Un-named, 
"always  God,  those  that  can't  help  them-  j 
selves,  who  have  no  strength  of  their  own,  are 
always  appealing  to  this  God,  as  if  they  knew 
such  a  being.  What  do  you  pretend  by  using 
this  word  ?  To  make  me — ?"  and  he  left  the 
phrase  unfinished, 

"  Oh,  sir !  pretend !  What  can  I,  poor  crea- 
ture, pretend  to,  but  that  you  may  be  merciful 
to  me.  God  pardons  so  many  sins  for  one  act 
of  mercy  !  let  me  go,  for  chanty  let  me  go !  It 
is  not  good  for  any  one  who  has  to  die,  to  make 
a  poor  creature  suffer  in  this  way.  You  who 
can  command  here,  tell  them  to  let  me  go ! 
Th«y  have  carried  me  off  by  force.  Put  "me 


!  in  that  thing  again  with  this  woman,  and  let 
j  me  be  carried  to  ***  where  my  mother  is ! 
;  Oh,  most  holy  virgin '  my  mother !  my  mother ! 
!  for  charity,  my  mother !  perhaps  she  is  not  far 
I  from  here — I  saw  my  mountains  as  we  came  ! 
I  why  do  you  make  me  suffer  ?    Let  them  take 
me  to  some  church,  I  will  pray  for  you,  as 
long  as  I  live.     What  will  it  cost  you  to  say 
one  word  ?  See,  see !  you  are  touched  with 
compassion,  say  one  word,  say  it.    God  par- 
dons so  many  things  for  one  act  of  mercy !" 

— Why  is  not  mis  the  daughter  of  one  of 
those  stupid  fools  that  banished  me  ! — thought 
the  Un-nained— one  of  those  vile  wretches 
that  wished  me  dead !  how  I  should  enjoy  her 

lamentations,  and  instead  of 

"Do  not  drive  away  a  good  inspiration!" 
she  fervidly  pursued,  reanimated  by  perceiv- 
ing some  hesitation  in  the  countenance  and 
manner  of  her  tyrant.  "  If  you  do  not  grant 
me  this  mercy,  the  Lord  will  be  merciful  to 
me ;  he  will  cause  me  to  die,  and  there  will 
be  an  end  of  my  life :  but  you,  perhaps  one  day 
even  you — but  no,  no,  I  will  always  pray  to 
God  to  preserve  you  from  all  evils.  What  will 
it  cost  you  to  say  one  word  ?  If  ever  you 
should  suffer  such  distress  as  I  feel — " 

"  Come,  take  courage,"  interrupted  the  Un- 
|  named,  with  a  gentleness  that  astonished  the 
old  woman.    "  Have  I  done  you  any  harm  ? 
Have  I  threatened  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  ?  I  see  that  you  have  a  good  heart, 
and  that  you  have  compassion  for  this  poor 
creature.  If  you  wished  to  do  it,  you  might 
frighten  me  more  than  all  the  others,  you 
might  make  me  die,  and  ins  .ead  of  that,  you 
have  eased  my  heart  a  little,  may  God  remem- 
ber it  to  you.  Complete  your  work  of  mercy, 
set  me  free,  set  me  free." 

"  Tomorrow " 

"  Oh,  set  me  free  now,  now — " 
"  Tomorrow  I  shall  see  you  again.    Come, 
keep  up  your  courage.    Go  to  rest,  you  must 
want    refreshment.      You  shall  have  some 
brought  to  you." 

"  No,  no,  I  shall  die  if  any  one  comes  in  here, 
I  shall  die.  Take  me  to  some  church — God 
will  reward  you  for  it." 

"  A  woman  shall  brins*  you  something  to 
eat,"  said  the  Un-named,  and  he  had  scarce 
uttered  the  words  when  he  was  astonished  how 
such  an  idea  should  have  come  into  his  head, 
and  how  he  had  been  placed  in  a  situation  to 
contrive  such  a  plan  merely  to  comfort  a  poor 
little  female. 

"  Aad  thou,"  he  instantly  added, "  encourage 
her  to  eat,  put  her  to  rest  in  thine  own  bed, 
and  if  she  wishes  thee  to  sleep  with  her,  do  so ; 
otherwise,  thoa  canst  sleep  for  one  night  on 
the  floor.  Cheer  her  up,  I  tell  thee,  keep  up 
her  spirits,  and  give  her  no  occasion  to  com- 
plain of  thee." 

Having  said  this,  he  moved  rapidly  to  the 
door ;  Lucia  rose  and  ran  to  detain  nim,  to  en- 
treat him  again,  but  he  was  gone.  "  Oh,  poor 
me!  shut  the  door,  shut  it  directly."  And  a* 
soon  as  she  had  heard  the  door  close,  and  the 


134 


THE  METROPOLITAN-. 


fastening  replaced,  sne  again  crept  into  the 
corner  where  she  had  been.  "  Oh,  poor  me !" 
she  again  exclaimed,  sobbing,  "who  shall  I 
entreat  now  ?  Where  am  I  ?  Tell,  tell  me  for 
charity,  who  is  that  gentleman — he  who  spoke 
to  me  ?" 

"  Who  he  is,  eh  ?  who  he  is  ?  You  want  me 
to  tell  you  that.  Stop  till  I  tell  you  indeed. 
You  are  become  proud,  now  that  he  protects 
you,  and  you  want  to  be  satisfied  about  every 
thing,  and  bring  me  into  difficulties.  Ask  him 
himself.  If  I  was  to  tell  you  that,  I  should  get 
none  of  those  kind  words  he  gave  you." — I  am 
an  old  woman,  an  old  woman — she  went  on, 
murmuring  between  her  teeth.  Hang  those 
young  creatures,  they  always  please  whether 
they  are  crying  or  laughing,  and  they  are  never 
in  the  wrong. — But  hearing  Lucia  sob,  and 
the  threatening  nature  of  her  master's  com- 
mands returning  to  her  mind,  she  went  to  the 
poor  girl  in  the  corner,  and  stooping  down  to 
her,  said,  with  a  more  composed  and  humane 
voice ;  "  Come,  I  have  said  nothing  bad  to 
you,  be  cheerful.  Don't  ask  me  things  I  cant 
answer  you,  and  as  to  the  rest  take  courage. 
If  you  knew  only  how  many  people  would  be 
happy  to  hear  him  talk  to  them  as  he  has  talk- 
ed to  you.  Keep  up  your  spirits,  by  and  by 
we  shall  have  something  to  eat,  and  I  who  un- 
derstand things,  know,  from  the  way  in  which 
he 'spoke  that  there  will  be  something  good, 
and  then  you  shall  lie  down,  and — you  will 
.eave  a  little  corner  for  me,"  she  added  with  a 
repressed  rancor. 

"  I  don't  want  to  eat,  I  don't  want  to  sleep. 
Leave  me  here — don't  go  away,  don't  go  from 
here!" 

"  No,  no,  come,"  said  the  old  woman,  seat- 
ing herself  in  an  old  chair,  whence  she  cast 
upon  the  poor  girl  looks  of  fear  and  spite,  and 
then  looking  at  her  bed,  and  worrying  herself 
at  the  idea  of  being  excluded  from  it  all  night, 
and  muttering  against  the  cold.  But  she  com- 
forted herself  with  the  thoughts  of  supper,  and 
the  hope  that  there  would  be  sufficient  for  her 
also.  Lucia  was  not  aware  it  was  cold,  she 
was  not  hungry,  she  was  astounded,  and  even 
of  her  affliction  and  her  terrors  she  had 
but  a  confused  sentiment,  like  the  flitting 
images  that  are  formed  in  the  slumbers  of  a  fe- 
yer. 

She  shook  when  she  heard  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  raising  her  frightened  countenance, 
called  crut,  "  Who  is  there  ?  who  is  there  ?  Let 
no  one  come  in!" 

"Its  nothing,  nothing,  only  good  news," 
said  the  old  woman,  "It  is  Martha  bringing 
something  to  eat." 

"  Shut,  shut,  the  door,"  cried  Lucia. 

"  Directly,  directly,"  replied  the  old  woman, 
and  taking  a  basket  from  Martha,  she  dismiss- 
ed her  in  haste,  and  having  shut  the  door, 
placed  the  basket  upon  a  table  in  the  middle  of 
the  room.  She  then  respectfully  invited  Lucia 
to  come  and  partake  of  the  provisions,  and 
using  such  language  as  she  thought  would 
servo  to  stimulate  her  appetite,  she  broke  out 


into  exclamations  of  the  exquisiteness  of  the 
food. 

"  Here  were  tlu'ngs,  that  when  common  peo- 
pl«  had  once  got  a  taste  of  them,  they  remem- 
bered them  fwr  some  time !  such  wine  as  the 
master  drank  with  his  friends — when  any  of 
those  particular  friends  came  ! — and  wanted  to 
be  merry.  Hem!"  But  seeing  all  these  al- 
lurements were  vain,  she  said,  "  It  is  you  that 
won't  have  any  thing,  so  don't  you  tell  him  to- 
morrow that  I  did  not  encourage  you.  I  shall 
eat  something,  and  there  will  be  more  than 
enough  left  for  you,  when  you  have  made  up 
your  mind  to  be  wiser,  and  to  obey."  Having 
said  this,  she  went  to  work  in  good  earnest,  and 
having  satisfied  herself,  she  left  the  seat,  and 
again  went  to  Lucia,  and  pressed  her  to  eat  and 
to  go  to  rest. 

"  No,  no,  I  won't  have  any  thing,"  she  an- 
swered with  a  weak  and  sleepy  voice.  And 
then,  with  renewed  vigor,  added,  "  is  the  door 
fastened?  is  it  well  fastened?"  And  after  look- 
ing about,  she  got  up,  and  with  her  hands  put 
out  before  her,  with  a  distrustful  pace,  she  went 
towards  it 

The  old  woman  reached  it  before  her,  put 
her  hand  to  the  fastening,  pulled  it,  and  show- 
ed that  it  was  secure,  "  See  now !  listen !  it  i§ 
perfectly  last.  Are  you  satisfied  now  ?  are  you 
content?" 

" Me  content ?  content  here!"  said  Lucia, 
going  to  her  corner  again.  "  But  the  Lord 
God  Knows  that  I  am  here !" 

"  Come  and  sleep,  what  are  you  doing  there 
lying  in  a  corner  like  a  dog  ?  Was  there  ever 
any  body  before  that  refused  what  was  good 
for  them,  when  they  could  have  it  ?" 

"  No,  no,  leave  me  alone." 

"  It  is  you  yourself  that  wiU  have  it  so.  See, 
I  shall  leave  you  plenty  of  room  here,  I  shall 
lie  down  on  the  edge,  I  shall  be  uncomfortable 
on  your  account.  If  you  want  to  come  to  bed, 
you  know  what  you  have  to  do.  Remember 
I  have  asked  you  a  great  many  times."  She 
then  laid  herself  down,  dressed  as  she  was, 
under  the  cover  lid,  and  all  became  silent. 

Lucia  remained  motionless,  crouched  in  the 
corner,  her  knees  bent  up  close  to  her  body, 
her  hands  on  her  knees,  and  her  face  hid  in  her 
hands.  She  was  neither  asleep  nor  awake,  it 
was  a  rapid  succession,  a  listless  flitting  of 
thoughts,  fancies,  and  agitations.  Now  more 
herself  again,  and  having  a  more  distinct  re- 
collection of  the  horrors  she  had  seen  and  suf- 
fered in  that  day,  she  painfully  reflected  upon 
the  circumstances  of  that  obscure  and  formi- 
dable reality  which  now  enveloped  her:  her 
mind  now,  borne  into  a  region  still  more  ob- 
scure, struggled  with  those  phantasms  arising 
from  uncertainty  and  terror.  She  remained  in 
this  state  of  agony  a  long  time,  and  which  we 
prefer  to  pass  rapidly  over.  At  length  weak- 
ened and  exhausted,  her  cramped  limbs  relaxed 
themselves,  and  she  fell  down  stretched  out, 
remaining  for  some  time  in  a  state  resembling 
sleep.  But,  all  at  once,  she  felt  an  internal 
call,  and  the  necessity  of  being  herself,  of  col- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


135 


lecting  all  her  thoughts,  of  knowing  where  she 
was,  and  how,  and  why  she  was  there. 

A  sound  reached  her  ear,  it  was  the  slow 
hoarse  breathing  of  the  old  woman,  she  open- 
ed her  eyes  and  saw  a  flickering  light  appear  and 
disappear  by  turns,  it  was  the  wick  of  the  lamp 
almost  burnt  out,  and  which  shot  out  a  tremu- 
lous light,  and  then  sank  back  again ;  like  the 
advance  and  retreat  of  the  wave  on  the  shore : 
a  light,  which,  flying  from  the  objects  before 
it  had  brought  them  into  relief  and  given  them 
a  distinct  color,  presented  a  confused  mixture 
of  things  to  the  vision.  Soon,  however,  recent 
impressions  re-appearing  in  her  mind,  assisted 
her  to  distinguish  what  appeared  confused  to 
her  senses.  The  unhappy  girl,  roused  once 
more,  recognized  her  prison ;  all  the  remem- 
brances of  the  past  horrible  day,  all  the  terrors 
of  the  future  assaulted  her  at  once,  this  new 
tranquillity,  even  after  so  many  agitations,  this 
resting,  this  being  abandoned  to  herself,  all 
brought  a  new  dread  upon  her,  and  she  was  so 
overcome  by  anguish  that  she  wished  to  die. 
But  at  that  very  moment  she  remembered  that 
she  could  still  pray ;  and  with  the  thought,  a 
sudden  hope,  a  new  ray  of  comfort  sprung  up 
within  her.  She  took  her  rosary  out  again  and 
began  to  tell  her  beads,  and  as  the  prayer  es- 
caped from  her  trembling  lips,  her  heart  felt 
that  her  wavering  faith  was  strengthening.  All 
at  once  another  thought  crossed  her  mind,  that 
her  prayer  would  be  more  acceptable  and  more 
certainly  heard,  if  in  her  desolation  she  was  to 
make  an  offering  to  the  Virgin.  She  thought 
of  what  she  held  most  dear,  of  what  she  had 
always  most  valued,  and  since  in  her  distress 
her  mind  could  entertain  no  feeling  but  that 
of  dread,  nor  conceive  of  any  other  desire  but 
that  of  deliverance,  she  remembered  what  that  I 
was,  and  resolved  to  make  a  sacrifice.  Placing  I 
herself  on  her  knees,  and  holding  clasped  to 
her  breast  the  hands  which  held  her  rosary, 
she  raised  her  face  and  eyes  to  heaven,  and 
said,  "  Oh,  most  holy  Virgin,  you  to  whom  I 
have  recommended  myself  so  many  times,  and 
who  so  often  have  consoled  me !  You  who 
have  suffered  so  many  griefs  and  are  now  so 
glorious !  You  who  have  done  so  many  mira- 
cles for  the  poor  in  tribulation,  aid  me !  take 
me  out  of  this  danger,  take  me  safe  back  to 
my  mother ;  mother  of  Christ !  I  make  a  vow 
to  remain  a  virgin,  to  renounce  for  ever  my 
poor  Renzo,  and  to  belong  to  no  one  but  you." 

Having  uttered  these  words,  she  bowed  her 
head  and  placed  the  rosary  round  her  neck ;  as 
a  sign  of  consecration,  and  a  safeguard  at  the 
same  time ;  as  an  armor  in  the  new  service  to 
which  she  had  now  devoted  herself.  Having 
seated  herself  again  on  the  floor,  she  felt  a 
stronger  faith  and  a  more  assured  tranquillity 
enter  into  her  soul.  That  tomorrow  which 
the  powerful  unknown  had  repeated,  came  to 
her  mind,  and  in  it  she  seemed  to  find  a  pro- 
mise of  safety.  Her  senses  now  fatigued  by 
these  conflicting  emotions,  began  to  slumber 
amidst  these  confiding  thoughts,  and  at  length, 
almost  at  dawn  of  day,  with  the  name  of  her 


protectress  half  issuing  from  her  lips,  Lucia 
fell  into  a  sound  and  perfect  sleep. 

But  there  was  another  in  that  same  castle 
who  would  willingly  have  done  the  same  thing, 
and  could  not.  Departed,  or  rather  escaped 
from  Lucia,  having  given  orders  for  her  sup- 
per, having  ^pade  his  usual  visits  to  certain 
parts  of  the  castle,  always  with  her  image  liv- 
ing in  his  mipd,  and  with  her  exclamations 
sounding  in  his  ears,  he  had  hastened  to  his 
chamber,  shut  himself  impatiently  up  there  as 
if  he  was  going  to  entrench  himself  against  a 
squadron  of  enemies,  and  undressing  in  haste, 
he  got  into  bed.  But  her  image,  now  more 
present  to  him  than  ever,  seemed  at  this  very 
instant  to  say  to  him : — Thou  shalt  not  sleep 
What  a  silly  woman's  curiosity  has  mine  been 
to  see  her,  thought  he.  That  beast  Nibbio  is 
right,  a  man  is  no  longer  a  man ;  it  is  so,  he  is 
no  longer  a  man  ! —  I  ?  I  am  no  longer  a 
man.  I?  What  has  happened?  What  the 
devil  has  got  into  me  ?  What  novelty  is  this  ? 
Did  not  I  know  before  that  women  break  out 
into  lamentations.  Men  do  the  same  thing 
when  they  can  do  nothing  else.  What  the 
devil,  did  I  never  hear  a  a  woman  blubber  be- 
fore ? 

And  here,  without  its  being  necessary  for 
him  to  give  himself  much  trouble  in  looking 
into  his  memory,  memory  of  itself  presented 
to  him  more  than  one  case  in  which  neither 
prayers  nor  lamentations  had  moved  him  from 
executing  his  firm  determinations.  But  the 
recollection  of  such  enterprizes,  instead  of 
giving  him  the  boldness  he  wanted  to  execute 
this,  instead  of  extinguishing  that  compassion 
which  disturbed  him,  brought  a  kind  of  terror 
there,  and  a  sort  of  angry  repentance.  So 
much  so  that  it  seemed  to  relieve  him  to  return 
to  that  first  image  of  Lucia,  against  which  he 
had  sought  to  strengthen  his  courage.  "  She 
is  still  living,"  he  said,  "  and  here ;  it  is  not 
too  late.  I  can  still  say  to  her,  go,  be  happy. 
I  can  see  that  face  brighten  up ;  I  can  still  say 
to  her,  pardon  me — pardon  me  ?  Me  ask  for 
pardon  !  to  a  woman  ?  I  ?  Ah  !  still,  if  a 
word,  if  such  a  word  could  comfort  me,  and 
could  relieve  me  from  a  little  of  this  cursed 
feeling,  I  would  say  it.  I  feel  that  I  should 
say  it.  To  what  am  I  reduced !  I  am  no 
longer  a  man,  I  am  no  longer  a  man  !  Begone ! " 
said  he,  afterwards,  furiously  turning  in  the 
bed,  which  felt  so  hard  to  him,  beneath  that 
covering  which  appeared  so  heavy  to  him : 
"  begone,  these  are  follies  that  have  crossed 
my  mind  at  other  times,  and  which  have  pass- 
ed away ;  these  will  pass  away  too." 

And  to  drive  them  off,  he  began  to  search 
in  his  mind,  for  some  important  affair,  some 
one  of  those  matters  which  were  wont  to  oc- 
cupy him  deeply,  that  he  might  turn  all  his 
attention  to  it,  but  he  could  find  none.  Every 
thing  appeared  changed  to  him ;  what  at 
other  times  had  more  strongly  stimulated  his 
desires,  now  had  no  longer  any  power  over 
him :  passion,  like  a  horse  become  suddenly 
restive  at  a  shadow,  refused  to  take  another 


136 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


step.  Thinking  of  the  undertakings  he  had 
begun,  and  which  were  unfinished,  instead  of 
being  stirred  up  to  complete  them,  instead  of 
being  irritated  by  obstacles  (for  anger  at  this 
moment  would  have  been  grateful  to  him)  he 
experienced  a  painful  regret,  and  a  dread  of 
the  steps  he  had  taken.  Tiaae  presented 
itself  in  the  vista  before  htm,  devoid  of  all  in- 
terest, of  all  desire,  of  all  action,  full  only  of 
intolerable  remembrances,  every  hour  like 
the  one  dragging  so  slowly  on,  and  so  heavily 
to  him.  He  ranged  in  his  imagination  all  the 
desperate  men  that  depended  upon  him,  and 
did  not  find  a  single  thing  that  it  was  impor- 
tant to  him  to  command  their  sendees  upon, 
and  even  the  idea  of  seeing  them  again,  of 
finding  himself  amongst  them,  was  a  new  bur- 
den, which  appeared  to  him  both  disgusting 
and  troublesome.  And  if  any  feat  was  to  be 
thought  of  for  the  next  day,  some  thing  or 
other  that  was  feasible,  it  was  the  idea  of 
setting  the  poor  girl  at  liberty. 

I  will  set  her  free,  yes ;  as  soon  as  the  day 
has  dawned,  I  will  run  to  her,  and  will  tell 
her,  go,  go.  I  will  have  her  accompanied — 
And  the  promise  ?  and  the  pledge  ?  and  Don 
Rodrigo  ? —  Who  is  Don  Rodrigo  ? 

Like  one  taken  unawares  by  an  unexpected 
and  embarrassing  interrogation  from  his  supe- 
rior, the  Un-named  immediately  thought  how 
he  was  to  answer  this  which  he  had  put  to 
himself,  or  rather  that  now  he  had  started 
into  existence  so  suddenly,  and  had  come  to 
judgment  against  the  old  one.  Thus  he  went 
seeking  for  reasons,  why,  almost  before  he 
had  been  asked,  he  had  resolved  to  take  upon 
himself  an  engagement  to  create  so  much  suf- 
fering, without  motives  of  hatred,  or  fear,  in 
a  wretched  unknown  maiden,  to  serve  him  : 
not  that  he  succeeded  in  discovering  reasons 
which  appeared  to  him  now  sufficient  to  ex- 
cuse the  fact,  for  he  could  not  even  compre- 
hend how  he  had  been  induced  to  it.  His  will, 
rather  than  his  deliberate  resolution,  had  been 
the  instantaneous  movement  of  a  mind  obe- 
dient to  ancient  habits,  the  consequence  of  a 
thousand  antecedent  facts ;  and  the  tormented 
examiner  of  himself,  to  give  an  account  of  a 
single  fact,  was  plunging  into  an  investigation 
of  his  whole  life.  Far  back,  from  year  to 
year,  from  enterprize  to  enterprize,  from 
blood  to  blood,  from  villanies  to  vallanies ; 
each  one  re-appeared  to  his  mind  conscious 
and  new,  separated  from  the  feelings  which 
had  made  him  will  and  commit  them,  and 
with  a  monstrosity  that  his  feelings  at  the 
time  had  kept  out  of  sight.  They  were  all 
his  own,  they  were  himself;  the  horror  of 
that  thought  flashing  forth  at  each  of  these 
images,  and  inseparable  from  all,  increased 
to  desperation.  He  raised  himself  in  a  pa- 
roxysm of  fury,  stretched  his  arm  to  the  wall 
at  the  side  of  the  bed,  seized  a  pistol,  cocked 

it,  and at  the  moment  when  he  was  about 

to  finish  an  insupportable  life,  his  mind,  sur- 
prized by  a  terroi^  and  a  solicitude  that  still 
survived,  plunged  into  that  time  which  would 


continue  to  roll  on  till  time  should  be  no 
more.  He  figured  to  himself  with  dread  his 
deformed  corse,  motionless,  in  the  power  of 
the  vilest  that  should  survive  him;  the  sur- 
prize, the  confusion  of  the  castle  on  the  mor- 
row, every  tiling  in  disorder,  himself  without 
power,  without  a  voice,  thrown  no  one  knows 
where.  He  thought  of  the  rumors  that 
would  be  circulated,  the  conjectures  that 
would  be  made  there,  in  the  neighborhood,  at 
a  distance,  and  of  the  joy  of  his  enemies.  The 
darkness  even,  and  silence  made  the  idea  of 
death  appear  still  more  gloomy  and  dreadful 
to  him  :  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  should  not 
have  hesitated,  if  it  had  been  day,  if  he  had 
been  out  of  his  room,  and  in  the  face  of  his 
people  to  have  thrown  himself  into  some  deep 
pool  and  have  disappeared.  Absorbed  in  these 
tormenting  contemplations,  he  kept  cocking 
and  uncocking  the  pistol,  with  a  convulsive 
motion  of  his  thumb,  when  another  thought 
took  possession  of  him. 

If  this  life  to  come  of  which  they  spoke  to 
me  when  I  was  a  boy,  and  of  which  they  still 
talk,  as  if  it  was  a  certainty,  if  there  is  no 
such  thing,  if  it  is  only  an  invention  of  the 
priests,  what  am  I  going  to  do  ?  wherefore 
die  ?  of  what  consequence  is  it  what  deeds  I 
have  done  ?  of  what  consequence  ?  It  is  mad- 
ness in  me — And  if  there  is  a  life  to  come — ! 

At  this  doubt,  at  so  great  a  risk,  a  despair 
still  more  black  and  insupportable  came  over 
him,  from  which,  even  with  the  aid  of  death, 
there  wae  no  escape.  The  pistol  dropped 
from  his  hands,  and  he  remained  with  his  fin- 
gers in  his  hair,  his  teeth  chattering,  and 
trembling  in  all  his  members.  All  at  once, 
the  words  which  he  had  heard  a  few  hours  be- 
fore, rushed  to  his  mind.  God  pardons  so 
many  tilings  for  one  work  of  mercy !  Still  it 
was  not  with  those  accents  of  humble  entreaty 
with  which  they  were  uttered,  that  they  now 
came  back  to  him,  but  in  a  voice  full  of  au- 
thority, and  which  at  the  same  time  encourged 
a  distant  hope.  It  was  a  moment  of  relief. 
He  raised  his  hands  from  his  temples,  and  in  a 
more  composed  attitude,  turned  his  mind's  eye 
towards  her  who  had  pronounce  those  words, 
and  considered  her,  not  as  his  captive,  not  as  a 
suppliant,  but  as  one  in  the  act  of  dispensing 
grace  and  consolation.  Anxiously  did  he  now 
expect  tlie  day,  that  he  might  liberate  her, 
that  he  might  hasten  to  hear  from  her  mouth 
more  words  of  solace  and  of  life ;  he  thought 
he  would  take  her  himself  to  her  mother — 
and  then  ?  What  shall  I  do  tomorrow,  (he 
rest  of  the  day  ?  What  shall  I  do  the  next 
day  ?  The  day  after  that  ?  And  the  night  ? 
Night,  that  will  return  again  in  twelve  hours  ? 
Oh  !  the  night !  no.  no,  the  night ! — And  fall- 
ing again  into  contemplation  of  the  painful 
void  of  the  future,  he  thought  in  vain  of  some 
employment  for  the  time,  some  way  of  pass- 
ing the  days,  and  the  nights.  Now  he  pro- 
posed to  himself  to  abandon  the  castle,  and  to 
go  to  distant  lands,  where  his  name  had  been 
I  never  heard  of,  but  he  felt,  that  he,  he  himself, 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


137 


would  always  be  there :  again  a  faint  hope 
sprung  up  of  a  return  of  his  ancient  courage 
and  his  former  inclinations,  and  that  this  was 
but  the  delirium  of  a  moment.  Now  he 
dreaded  the  day,  that  must  exhibit  him  to  his 
people  so  miserably  changed,  now  he  sighed 
for  it,  as  if  it  would  even  shed  a  light  upon  his 
thoughts. 

And  lo !  exactly  at  the  dawn,  but  a  few  mo- 
ments after  Lucia  had  slept,  whilst  he  was 
sitting  motionless  in  his  bed,  an  indistinct  un- 
dulating sound  reached  his  ear  that  had  some- 
thing of  a  festive  character  in  it.  He  listened, 
and  perceived  it  was  a  distant  festive  chiming 
of  bells,  and  after  a  while  he  heard  it  echoed 
from  the  hills,  which,  from  time  to  time,  lan- 
guidly repeated  the  harmony,  and  mingled 
itself  with  it.  By  and  by  he  heard  another 
chiming  still  nearer,  then  another,  all  of  a  fes- 
tive character.  What  rejoicing  is  this  ?  What 
are  they  making  merry  about?  What  good 
fortune  has  happened  ?  He  leapt  from  his  bed 
of  thorns,  and  throwing  on  some  clothes  in 
haste,  he  opened  one  of  the  windows,  and 
looked  out.  The  mountains  were  half  covered 
with  mist,  the  sky,  more  than  cloudy,  was  one 
universal  ash-colored  cloud,  but  the  dawn, 
which  kept  increasing,  showed  people  hastily 
moving  about  in  the  road  at  the  bottom  of  the 
valley ;  others  leaving  their  houses,  all  going  in 
the  same  direction,  towards  the  entrance  of 
the  valley,  to  the  right  of  the  castle.  The 
dress  also,  and  the  festive  manner  of  the  peo- 
ple, could  be  distinguished. 

What  the  deuce  have  they  got  in  them? 
What  cause  for  mirth  is  there  in  this  wretched 
country  ?  Where  is  all  that  mob  going  ?  And 
having  called  a  Bravo  who  slept  in  a  contigu- 
ous room,  he  inquired  of  him  the  cause  of  all 
this  movement.  This  fellow,  who  knew  no 
more  than  his  master,  answered  that  he  would 
go  immediately  and  get  information.  The  Un- 
named remained  in  the  mean  time  leaning 
against  the  window,  intent  upon  the  moving 
spectacle.  There  were  men,  women,  children, 
in  groups,  in  pairs,  alone ;  others  coming  up 
with  those  who  had  got  on  before,  joined  them : 
another  one  leaving  his  house,  would  make  a 
companion  of  the  first  he  fell  in  with  on  the 
road,  and  they  would  go  on  together,  like 
friends  on  an  appointed  journey.  Their  ac- 
tions manifestly  indicated  they  were  in  a  hur- 
ry, and  that  the  joy  was  common  :  and  the  si- 
multaneous, though  not  concerted  sound  of 
the  various  peals,  some  more,  some  less  nigh, 
and  distinct,  seemed  to  represent  the  general 
voice  of  these  movements,  and  the  words 
which  could  not  rise  as  high  as  the  castle.  He 
looked,  and  looked,  and  this  more  than  curi- 
osity increased  in  his  heart  to  know  what 
could  impart  so  much  gladness,  and  the  same 
inclination  to  such  a  variety  of  people. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

IN  a  short  time  the  Bravo  returned  to  say, 
that  the  preceding  day,  Cardinal  Federigo 
18 


Borromeo,  archbishop  of  Milan,  had  arrived 
at  *  *  *,  and  would  remain  there  all  that  day, 
which  was  now  beginning ;  and  that  the  news 
of  this  arrival  having  spread  all  around  during 
the  preceding  evening,  had  inspired  the  pec  - 
pie  with  a  desire  to  go  and  see  this  man :  they 
had  set  the  bells  a  ringing,  as  well  for  the  plea- 
sure his  arrival  had  given  them,  as  to  spread 
the  news.  The  Un-named,  left  once  more 
alone,  continued  to  look  down  into  the  valley 
still  more  thoughtfully.  For  a  man!  all  in 
such  haste,  all  so  happy,  to  go  and  see  a  man ! 
and  still  every  one  of  them  has  got  his  devil 
that  torments  him.  But  no  one,  no,  not  one, 
has  got  a  devil  like  mine  :  no  one  has  passed 
such  a  night  as  I  have  !  What  has  he  about 
him  that  he  can  make  so  many  people  happy ? 
A  little  money  to  distribute  at  a  venture  ? — 
But  they  are  not  going  there  for  charity.  Some 
motions  and  crossings  in  the  air,  a  few  words 
he  will  say  to  them. — Oh !  if  but  that  he  had 
any  words  to  console  me  with  !  If  but — ! 
Why  should  not  I  go  too  ?  Why  not  ?  I  will 
go.  What  else  can  I  do  ?  I  will  go,  and  I  will 
speak  to  him.  I  will  speak  to  him  alone. 
What  shall  I  say  to  him  ?  Well,  whatever — 
whatever — I  will  hear  what  he  has  to  say,  this 
man ! 

Having  made  this  confused  determination, 
he  hastened  to  dress  himself,  and  threw  on  his 
shoulders  a  casaque  that  had  something  of  a 
military  air,  took  up  the  pistol  that  was  laid 
on  the  bed,  and  stuck  it  into  his  girdle,  on  one 
side,  took  another  down  from  a  nail  in  the  wall, 
and  stuck  it  in  the  other  side :  then  placed  his 
dagger  in  it,  and  taking  down  a  carabine  almost 
as  famous  as  himself,  he  slung  it  round  his 
neck.  Having  put  on  his  hat,  he  left  the  room, 
but  first  went  to  that  where  he  had  left  Lucia. 
Depositing  his  carabine  in  a  corner  near  the 
door,  he  knocked  and  spoke.  The  old  woman, 
jumping  from  the  bed,  and  throwing  something 
over  her,  ran  to  open  the  door.  He  entered, 
and  casting  a  glance  into  the  room,  he  per- 
ceived Lucia  all  gathered  up  in  her  corner, 
and  quiet.  "Does  she  sleep?"  he  asked  of 
the  old  woman  in  a  low  tone,  "  does  she  sleep 
in  thatplace  ?  Were  these  my  orders,  wretch?" 

"I  nave  done  all  I  could,"  she  answerd, 
"but  she  refused  to  eat  any  thing,  neither 
would  she  come ." 

"Let  her  sleep  in  peace,  be  careful  thou 
dost  not  disturb  her,  and  when  she  awakes — 
Martha  will  come  to  the  next  room,  and  thou 
canst  send  for  any  thing  she  may  want.  When 
she  awakes — tell  her — that  I — that  the  master 
is  gone  for  a  short  time,  that  he  will  return, 
and  that — he  will  do  every  thing  that  she 
wishes." 

The  old  crone  remained  perfectly  astound- 
ed, thinking  within  herself. — Is  this  some 
princess  ? 

Leaving  the  room,  and  retaking  his  cara- 
bine, the  Un-named  sent  Martha  to  wait  in 
the  anti-chamber,  and  ordered  the  first  Bravo 
he  found,  to  be  on  guard  and  see  that  no  one 
but  her  entered  the  room ;  he  then  left  the 


138 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


castle,  and  with  a  rapid  step  began  the  descent. 
The  manuscript  does  not  notice  the  distance 
from  the  castle  to  the  village  where  the  cardi- 
nal was ;  it  would  not,  however,  be  more  than 
a  good  walk.  We  do  not  suppose  this  proxi- 
mity merely  because  the  country  people  were 
going  there  on  foot,  since  in  the  memorials  of 
those  times,  we  find,  that  the  people  went 
twenty  miles  and  more  to  see  the  Cardinal 
Federigo ;  but  from  all  we  shall  have  to  nar- 
rate, that  happened  on  this  day,  we  infer  the 
distance  was  short.  The  Bravo's  that  he  met 
with  on  the  way,  respectfully  stopped  to  let 
their  master  pass,  that  he  might  either  give 
them  his  orders  for  the  day,  or  take  them 
with  him  on  any  expedition"  he  might  be  on, 
and  much  astonished  they  were  at  the  change 
in  his  countenance,  and  at  the  looks  he  cast  at 
them  when  they  bowed  to  him. 

When  he  got  to  the  bottom,  into  the  public 
road,  it  was  quite  another  affair.  The  first 
that  saw  him  began  to  whisper  to  each  other, 
to  look  suspiciously,  and  to  move  away,  one 
here  and  another  there.  During  the  whole 
distance  he  never  made  two  steps  in  company 
with  any  body  else:  every  one,  when  they 
saw  him  draw  near,  looked  frightened,  bowed 
to  him,  and  slackened  their  pace  to  let  him 
get  before.  When  he  arrived  at  the  village 
there  was  quite  a  crowd ;  and  no  sooner  was  he 
perceived,  than  his  name  passed  from  mouth 
to  mouth,  and  the  crowd  opened  to  let  him 
pass.  Approaching  one  of  these  timid  per- 
sons, he  inquired  of  him  where  the  cardinal 
was  ?  "  At  the  curate's  house,"  the  man  re- 
spectfully answered,  and  pointed  it  out  to  him. 
He  went  there,  entered  a  small  court  where 
there  were  many  ecclesiastics,  all  of  whom 
stared  at  him  with  wonder  and  suspicion.  In 
front  was  a  door  wide  open,  which  led  to  a 
small  room,  where,  also,  many  other  priests 
were  assembled.  He  took  his  carabine  from 
his  neck  and  set  it  up  in  a  corner  of  the  court, 
then  entered  the  room ;  there,  also,  eyes  were 
set  in  motion,  a  name  whispered,  and  then 

Erofound  silence.    Turning  to  one  of  them, 
e  asked  where  the  cardinal  was,  adding,  that 
be  wished  to  speak  to  him. 

"  I  am  a  stranger,"  replied  the  man,  and 
looking  round,  he  called  the  chaplain,  who 
was  crossbearer,  and  who  was  at  the  very  in- 
stant saying  to  another  in  a  corner  of  the 
room,  "he?  that  famous  person?  what  has  he 
to  do  here?  keep  away  from  him!"  Still,  at 
the  call,  which  resounded  in  the  general  si- 
lence, he  was  obliged  to  come,  and  bowing  to 
the  Un-natned,  he  heard  his  request,  and  rais- 
ing, with  an  unquiet  curiosity  his  eyes  to  his 
countenance,  and  letting  them  fall  again,  he 
remained  some  time  before  he  stammered  out, 
"  I  do  not  know  if  the  most  illustrious  mon- 
signor — at  this  very  moment— can — if  he  be — 
if  he  is  able— enough,  I  will  go  and  see." 
And  very  reluctantly  he  went  to  the  next 
room,  wnere  the  cardinal  was,  to  carry  his 
message. 
At  this  portion  of  our  story,  we  cannot  do 


less  than  stop  a  short  time  ;  like  the  traveler, 
tired  and  wearied  out  with  the  length  of  his 
journey  through  a  barren  and  savage  country, 
who  loses  a  little  of  his  time  in  reposing  be- 
neath the  shade  of  a  noble  tree,  upon  the  grass, 
near  a  spring  of  ripling  water.  We  have  now 
got  up  with  a  personage,  whose  name  and 
whose  memory,  recur  when  they  will,  recre- 
ate the  mind  with  a  placid  feeling  of  reve- 
rence, and  with  a  delightful  emotion  of  sym- 
pathy, especially  after  so  many  painful  images, 
and  after  the  contemplation  of  such  complica- 
ted and  vexatious  perversity.  About  this  per- 
sonage it  is  absolutely  necessary  that  we  say  a 
few  words ;  any  one  who  does  not  care  to  read 
them,  and  prefers  getting  on  with  the  story, 
may  pass  right  on  to  the  next  chapter. 

Federigo  Borromeo,  born  in  1574,  was  one 
of  those  rare  persons,  of  whatever  period,  who 
have  employed  a  remarkable  understanding, 
the  resources  of  great  opulence,  and  all  the 
advantages  of  a  privileged  condition,  in  a  con- 
tinued effort  to  discover  and  to  practice  that 
which  is  best.  His  life  was  like  a  stream,  that 
falling  limpidly  from  the  rock,  without  be- 
coming stagnant  or  troubled  in  its  extended 
course  over  various  soils,  empties  itself  in  all 
its  purity  into  the  river  it  augments.  Amidst 
the  most  perfect  ease,  and  with  splendor  at  hid 
command,  from  his  boyhood  he  kept  his  eye 
fixed  upon  those  words  of  self-denial  and  hu- 
mility, upon  those  maxims  directed  against  the 
vanity  of  all  pleasure,  the  injustice  ot  all  pride 
upon  true  dignity,  and  true  excellence,  which, 
whether  felt  or  unfelt  in  the  human  heart,  are 
transmitted  from  one  generation  to  another  in 
the  first  instructive  elements  of  religion.  To 
those  words,  to  those  maxims,  he  looked ;  he 
thought  of  them  seriously,  he  found  them  to 
his  taste,  because  he  found  them  to  be  true. 
It  was  evident  to  him  that  the  words  and  max- 
ims opposed  to  these,  and  which  also  are  trans- 
mitted from  age  to  age,  with  the  same  perti- 
nacity, and  sometimes  with  the  same  lips, 
could  not  be  true ;  and,  therefore,  he  proposed 
to  himself,  to  adopt  as  the  rule  of  his  own  ac- 
tions and  thoughts,  that  which  was  true.  By 
the  aid  of  these  he  perceived  that  human  life 
is  not  destined  to  be  a  burthen  to  the  many, 
and  a  feast  for  the  rest,  but  that  it  is  an  occu- 
pation for  all,  and  for  which  all  are  to  render 
an  account :  he,  therefore,  began  when  a  boy 
to  consider  how  he  could  render  his  own  life 
useful  and  holy. 

In  1580  he  declared  his  resolution  to  dedi- 
cate himself  to  the  ecclesiastical  profession, 
and  received  the  habit  from  the  hands  of  his 
cousin  Charles,  whom  the  universal  voice  had 
before  this  period  signalized  as  a  saint.  Soon 
after,  he  entered  the  college  founded  by  his  re- 
lative, in  Pa  via,  and  whicn  still  bares  the  name 
of  their  house.  There,  attending  assiduously 
to  the  occupations  which  were  prescribed,  he 
took  upon  himself  two  others  also  of  his  own 
accord :  these  were,  to  teach  the  Christian  doc- 
trine to  the  vilest  and  most  degraded  of  the 
people,  and  to  visit,  keep,  console,  and  sue- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


139 


cor  the  sick.  He  availed  himself  of  the  influ- 
ence that  all  conceded  to  him  in  that  place,  to 
persuade  his  companions  to  second  him  in 
these  works  of  charity;  and  in  all  things  that 
were  honest  and  profitable,  he  exercised,  as  il 
it  had  been  his  duty,  an  authority,  that  con- 
sidering his  understanding  and  his  disposition, 
he  would,  perhaps,  have  in  like  manner  ob- 
tained, if  he  had  sprung  from  a  low  origin. 
Advantages  of  another  kind,  which  the  cir- 
cumstances of  fortune  might  procure  for  him, 
he  not  only  did  not  seek  tor,  but  was  anxious 
to  refuse.  He  preferred  a  table  that  was  rather 
poor  than  frugal,  he  wore  a  dress  more  homely 
than  distinctive,  and  in  harmony  with  these  cus- 
toms, was  the  tenor  of  his  whole  life  and  con- 
duct. Nor  did  he  ever  think  about  changing 
his  habits,  although  his  connections  made  a 
great  noise  and  complaint,  that  it  was  an  abase- 
ment of  the  dignity  of  his  house.  He  had 
other  contests  to  sustain  with  the  institutors  of 
the  college,  who  endeavored  secretly  and  un- 
expectedly to  make  him  appear  in,  and  have 
about  him,  things  of  a  somewhat  showy  na- 
ture, to  distinguish  him  from  the  rest,  and  give 
him  the  appearance  of  the  prince  of  the  place : 
either  they  thought  to  make  themselves  ac- 
ceptable to  him  by  it,  in  the  long  run,  or  they 
were  moved  by  that  servile  fawning  which 
delights  to  bask  beneath  the  splendor  of  an- 
other, or  they  were  of  the  number  of  those 
discreet  persons,  who  live  under  the  shadow 
of  the  virtues  as  well  as  the  vices,  and  who 
always  preach  that  perfection  is  to  be  found 
midway,  placing  that  point  exactly  where  they 
have  arrived  themselves,  and  where  they  are 
at  their  ease.  But  far  from  yielding  to  these 
officious  persons,  he  repelled  them ;  and  this 
happened  between  the  age  of  puberty  and 
manhood. 

That,  during  the  life  time  of  his  cousin 
Charles,  who  was  older  than  him  by  twenty- 
six  years,  in  the  presence  of  a  man  who  re- 
ceived even  solemn  respect  from  all,  and 
encouraged  by  so  much  fame,  and  impressed 
by  such  indications  of  sanctity,  Federigo,  both 
when  a  boy  and  a  young  man,  should  have 
endeavored  to  conform  to  the  deportment  and 
desire  of  such  a  cousin,  is  certainly  not  extra- 
ordinary ;  but  it  is  a  remarkable  thing,  that 
after  his  death,  no  one  could  perceive  that 
Federigo,  then  twenty  years  old,  stood  in  need 
either  of  a  guide  or  a  censor.  The  increasing 
reputation  of  his  understanding,  of  his  doc- 
trine and  of  his  piety,  his  connections,  and 
the  influence  of  more  than  one  powerful  car- 
dinal; the  credit  of  his  family,  the  name 
itself,  to  which  Charles  had  annexed  an  idea 
of  sanctity,  and  of  priestly  dignity,  all  which 
ought,  and  all  whicn  can  lead  men  to  ecclesi- 
astical dignities,  concurred  to  prognosticate 
his  attainment  of  them.  But  persuaded  in- 
wardly that  no  one  who  professes  Christiani- 
ty in  his  heart,  can  deny  with  his  mouth,  that 
the  superiority  of  man  over  other  men,  can 
only  be  justifiable  but  when  it  is  used  in  their 
service,  he  feared  dignities,  and  sought  to 


avoid  them :  not  certainly  because  he  was 
unwilling  to  serve  others,  for  few  lives  had 
been  spent  in  doing  this,  as  his  had  been ;  but 
because  he  did  not  think  himself  worthy 
enough,  nor  fit  for  such  a  high  and  dangerous 
service.  Wherefore,  Pope  Clement  VIII.,hav- 
ing  proposed  in  1595  to  invest  him  with  the 
Archbishopric  of  Milan,  he  appeared  much 
disturbed,  and  refused  the  charge  without 
hesitation.  And  he  only  yielded  to  the  ex- 
press command  of  the  pope. 

Demonstrations  of  this  kind — and  who  is 
ignorant  of  it .' — are  neither  difficult  nor  un- 
common, and  it  requires  no  greater  effort 
of  talent  in  hypocrisy  to  make  them,  than  it 
requires  buffoonery  to  ridicule  them  thorough- 
ly in  either  case.  But  are  they  less  the  natu- 
ral expression  of  a  virtuous  and  wise  feeling  ? 
Life  is  the  touchstone  of  professions,  and  the 
declarations  which  express  that  feeling,  even 
if  they  had  passed  through  the  lips  of  all  the 
impostors  and  mockers  in  the  world,  will  be 
always  beautiful,  when  they  have  been  pre- 
ceded and  followed  by  a  life  of  disinterested 
sacrifices. 

In  Federigo,  the  archbishop,  there  was  a 
careful  and  constant  study  not  to  appropriate 
on  his  own  account,  either  the  possessions,  the 
time,  or  the  attentions,  of  what  belonged  to 
himself,  in  short,  beyond  what  was  strictly 
necessary.    He  said,  as  all  say,  that  ecclesias- 
tical property  is  the  patrimony  of  the  poor ; 
how  that  maxim  was  practically  followed  up 
by  him,  may  be  seen  in  this.    He  was  desi- 
rous that  an  estimate  should  be  made  of  what 
his  maintenance  ought    to  amount  to,  and 
the  servants  attached  to  him  personally :  and 
being  told    six  hundred  crowns,   (the   gold 
coin  of  that  day  was  called  scudo  or  crown, 
and  always  remaining  of  the  same  weight  and 
purity,  was  afterwards  called  Zecchino,)  he 
gave  orders  that  that  sum  should  be  annually 
taken  from  his  patrimonial  income,  for  the  use 
of  his  table,  not  believing  that  it  was  lawful 
for  a  man  of  his  abundant  means  to  live  upon 
the  patrimony  of  the  church.    Of  his  own 
property  he  was  a  very  frugal  and  economi- 
cal distributor  for  his  own  wants,  never  leav- 
ing off  a  garment  which  was  not  entirely 
worn  out ;  uniting  however,  as  it  has  been  re- 
marked   by    contemporaneous  writers,  to  a 
taste  for  simplicity,  a  very  exquisite  neatness, 
two  remarkable  habits  in  fact  in  a  sumptuous 
and  dirty  age.    And  also,  that  nothing  might 
3e  wasted  of  the  fragments  of  his  frugal  table, 
ic  ordered  them  to  be  given  to  an  hospital  for 
'he  poor ;  and  one  of  them,  by  his  orders,  en- 
:ered  every  day  into  the  dinner  hall,  to  gather 
whatever  was  left.     A  care,  which  might 
produce  an  idea,  that  he  was  a  man  of  a  cov- 
etous, needy,  and  narrow  turn,  with  a  mind 
clogged  up  by  minutia,  and  incapable  of  ele- 
vated ideas,  if  we  did  not  possess  the  ambro- 
sian  library,  which    Federigo  conceived  in 
such  a  spirit  of  magnificence,  and  erected 
rom  its  foundation  at  so  great  an  expense ; 
and  to  furnish  which  with  books  and  rnanu- 


140 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


scripts, — besides  the  gift  of  those  already  col- 
lected with  great  care  and  expense  by  him, 
he  despatched  eight  men,  the  most  cultivated 
and  skilled  that  he  could  find,  to  make  pur- 
chases, in  Italy,  France,  Spain,  Germany, 
Flanders,  Greece,  Libanus  and  Jerusalem. 
By  these  means  he  succeeded  in  collecting 
about  thirty  thousand  printed  volumes,  and 
fourteen  thousand  manuscripts. 

To  the  library  he  united  a  college  of  Doc- 
tors, (they  were  nine  in  number,  and  support- 
ed by  him  whilst  he  lived,  when  the  ordinary 
revenue  not  sufficing,  they  were  reduced  to 
two)  and  their  duty  was  to  cultivate  various 
branches  of  study ;  theology,  history,  letters, 
ecclesiastical  antiquities,  and  oriental  lan- 
guages, with  the  task  imposed  upon  each  of 
mem  to  publish  some  work  on  the  matter 
assigned  to  them.  He  added  to  this  a  college 
called  by  him,  Trilingue,*  for  the  study  of 
Greek,  Latin,  and  Italian ;  also  a  college  of 
alumni,  to  be  instructed  in  these  faculties 
and  languages,  of  which  they  were  to  be 
professors  in  turn  :  there  was  also  a  printing 
establishment  for  the  oriental  tongues,  that  is, 
for  the  Hebrew,  the  Chaldean,  the  Arabic,  the 
Persian,  and  the  Armenian ;  also  a  gallery  of 
paintings,  another  of  statues,  and  a  school  of 
the  three  principal  branches  of  drawing.  For 
these  he  could  find  professors  already  instruct- 
ed;  as  to  the  rest,  we  have  seen  what  a  labor 
it  cost  him  to  collect  the  books  and  manu- 
scripts, and  certainly  it  was  more  difficult  to 
succeed  with  the  types  of  those  languages, 
then  much  less  cultivated  in  Europe  than  they 
are  at  present,  and  with  the  printers,  still  more 
than  the  types.  It  is  enough  to  say,  that  of 
nine  doctors,  he  took  eight  from  amongst  the 
young  men  educated  at  the  seminary;  from 
which  a  conclusion  may  be  drawn  as  to  the 
opinion  he  had  formed  of  the  studies  pursued, 
and  the  reputations  made  at  that  period,  a 
judgment  in  conformity  with  that  which  pos- 
terity seems  to  have  made,  by  permitting 
both  one  and  the  other  to  go  into  oblivion. 

In  the  directions  that  he  left  for  the  use  and 
government  of  the  library,  it  is  evident  he  had 
in  contemplation  its  perpetual  utility,  an  idea 
admirable  in  itself,  and  in  many  details  provi- 
dent and  noble,  far  beyond  me  notions  and 
practices  of  that  period.  The  librarian  was 
directed  to  correspond  with  the  most  learned 
men  of  Europe,  in  order  to  collect  information 
of  the  state  of  the  sciences,  of  the  most  useful 
books  in  every  branch  of  knowledge,  and  to 
acquire  them :  he  was  instructed  to  give  notice 
to  students  of  the  works  fitted  for  their  parti- 
cular branches,  and  directed  that  these,  whe- 
ther they  were  citizens  or  strangers,  should 
have  every  accommodation,  in  order  that  they 
might  take  advantage  of  the  books  preserved 
there.  Intentions  oT  this  kind,  proposed  at  the 
foundation  of  a  library,  appear  nothing  very 
extraordinary  in  our  days,  but  it  was  not  so  at 
that  period.  And  in  a  history  of  this  ambro- 

*  Three  languages. 


sian  library,  (written  with  all  the  stile  and  ele- 
gance common  to  that  period,)  by  one  Pierpaolo 
Bosca,  librarian,  after  the  death  of  Federigo,  it 
is  expressly  stated,  as  a  remarkable  thing,  that 
in  this  library,  formed  by  an  individual,  al- 
most in  every  particular  at  his  own  expense, 
the  books  were  exposed  to  the  sight  of  every 
one,  taken  to  whoever  called  for  them,  with 
commodious  seats  for  those  who  wished  to 
study ;  and  pens,  ink,  and  paper  to  make  notes ; 
whilst  in  other  celebratea  public  libraries  of 
Italy,  the  books  were  not  only  not  exposed  in 
that  way,  but  were  hid  away  in  closets,  from 
whence  they  were  dragged  out,  as  he  says, 
only  by  the  humanity  of  those  who  presided, 
when  they  felt  in  the  humor  to  show  them  a 
momeat :  as  to  convenience  and  facilities  for 
the  students  who  visited  them,  nothing  of  the 
kind  was  thought  of.  So  that  the  very  act  of 
enriching  such  libraries  was  a  substraction  of 
books  from  the  common  use,  a  sort  of  cultiva- 
tion which  existed  both  at  that  time  and  the 
present,  and  which  impoverished  the  soil. 

It  would  be  superiluous  to  inquire  what 
effects  were  produced  by  this  institution  of  the 
Cardinal  Borromeo,  upon  the  public  improve- 
ment ;  it  would  be  easy  to  demonstrate,  accord- 
ing as  the  subject  might  be  treated,  that  they 
were  wonderful,  or  that  they  were  nothing  at 
all:  to  endeavor  to  explain,  up  to  a  certain 
point,  what  they  really  were,  would  be  a  very 
fatiguing  thing,  of  little  utility,  and  out  of 
place.  But  conceive  what  a  generous,  judi- 
cious, benevolent,  persevering,  lover  of  hu- 
man improvement  he  must  have  been,  who 
conceived  such  a  plan,  and  in  such  a  manner, 
and  who  executed  it  in  the  midst  of  so  much 
gross  ignorance,  indolence,  and  the  general  in- 
difference to  all  studious  application,  and  who 
was  consequently  exposed  to  the  most  discou- 
raging objections ;  to  such  expressions  as,  — of 
•what  use  can  it  be?  there  are  other  things  to 
think  about.  A  pretty  notion  to  be  sure .'  Now 
he  has  put  the  climax  to  it !  and  others  similar, 
certainly  exceeding  in  number  the  crowns  ex- 
pended by  him  in  the  undertaking,  which  were 
one  hundred  and  five  thousand,  the  greater 


part  belonging  to  himself. 
To  call  such  a  man  b 


beneficent  and  liberal  in 
a  high  degree,  it  would  not  be  necessary  that 
he  should  nave  disbursed  a  great  deal  more,  in 
succoring  the  needy ;  and  there  are  many  per- 
sons in  whose  opinions  expenses  of  this  kind, 
and  I  would  say  all  expenditures  of  this  na- 
ture, constitute  the  best  and  most  useful  kind 
of  alms.  But  in  the  opinion  of  Federigo,  alms, 
properly  so  called,  was  a  duty  of  the  first  order ; 
and  here,  as  in  other  matters,  his  actions  were 
in  conformity  to  his  opinions.  His  life  was  one 
continued  distribution  to  the  poor.  Upon  the 
occasion  of  this  dearth  even,  of  which  our  story 
speaks,  we  shall  have,  by  and  by,  to  refer  to 
some  things  where  the  wisdom  and  the  noble- 
ness which  marked  his  liberality  will  be  seen. 
Of  the  many  singular  examples  which  his  bio- 
graphers have  noted  of  this  great  quality,  we 
will  quote  only  one.  Having  been  informed 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


141 


that  a  nobleman  used  artifices  and  oppressions 
to  force  his  daughter  to  become  a  nun,  who 
was  desirous  of  entering  into  the  marriage 
state,  he  sent  for  him :  the  father  confessed  that 
the  only  motive  he  had  for  controling  the  in- 
clinations of  his  daughter  was,  that  he  could 
not  give  her  four  thousand  crowns  as  a  dower, 
a  sum  which,  according  to  his  manner  of  think- 
ing, was  indispensable  to  her  forming  a  con- 
nexion consistent  with  his  rank.  Federigo 
presented  her  with  the  four  thousand  crowns  as 
a  portion.  Perhaps  some  may  think  this  was 
an  excessive  piece  of  generosity,  not  well  con- 
sidered, and  mat  it  was  yielding  too  much  to 
the  foolish  caprices  of  a  proud  man,  and  that 
four  thousand  crowns  might  have  been  better 
employed  in  another  way.  We  have  no  other 
answer  to  make  to  this,  except  that  it  would 
be  very  desirable  to  witness  frequent  excesses 
of  a  virtue  so  free  from  prevailing  opinions, 
(every  age  has  its  own,)  so  separated  trom  the 
general  tendency,  as  in  this  case,  was  that 
which  moved  a  man  to  give  four  thousand 
crowns,  to  prevent  a  young  maiden  from  being 
forced  to  become  a  nun. 

The  inexhaustible  charity  of  this  man,  not 
alone  in  giving,  was  conspicuous  in  all  his 
actions.  Of  easy  access  to  every  one,  he  be- 
lieved it  to  be  his  duty  to  receive  every  one 
belonging  to  what  is  called  the  lower  class, 
with  a  cheerful  countenance,  and  a  kind  cour- 
tesy, and  the  more  so  the  lower  their  condi- 
tion. And  here  too  he  had  to  dispute  with 
some  honest  people  who  belonged  to  the  ne 
quid  nimis  class,  who  also  wanted  to  govern 
his  actions.  One  of  these,  once,  when  Fede- 
rigo on  a  visit  to  an  alpine  and  wild  country 
place,  was  giving  instruction  to  some  poor  lit- 
tle boys,  and  was  caressing  them  whilst  he  was 
questioning  them,  told  him  he  ought  to  be 
careful  in  touching  those  boys,  as  they  were 
too  filthy  and  dirty;  as  if  the  worthy  man 
might  not  have  supposed  that  Federigo  had 
sense  enough  to  make  the  discovery  himself, 
and  wit  enough  to  do  without  such  advice. 
Such  is,  in  certain  conditions  of  the  times  and 
of  things,  the  misfortune  of  men  of  rank,  who 
whilst  they  so  seldom  find  persons  to  warn 
them  against  their  faults,  are  never  wanting  in 
courageous  friends  to  prevent  them  from  doing 
good.  But  the  good  bishop,  not  without  some 
teeling  of  resentment,  answered,  "  these  are  my 
own  souls ;  perhaps  they  may  never  see  my  face 
again,  and  wont  you  let  me  even  caress  them  ?" 

Resentment,  however,  was  a  very  rare  oc- 
currence with  him,  who  was  admired  for  his 
gentleness,  and  an  imperturbable  suavity  of 
manner,  which  might  have  been  attributed  to 
an  extraordinary  happy  temper,  but  which  was 
the  effect  of  constant  discipline  over  a  hasty 
and  quick  nature.  If  sometimes  he  appeared 
severe,  and  even  stern,  it  was  with  his  subor- 
dinate pastors,  when  he  discovered  them  to  be 
avaricious,  or  negligent,  or  tainted  with  any 
other  defects  especially  opposed  to  the  spirit 
of  their  noble  ministry.  In  all  things  that  re- 
lated to  his  personal  interests,  or  his  temporal 


glory,  he  never  showed  any  emotions  of  joy, 
or  of  regret,  of  ardor,  or  of  agitation,  wonder- 
ful if  these  motives  were  not  awakened  in  his 
mind,  still  more  wonderful  if  they  could  act 
there.  Not  only  from  the  many  conclaves 
where  he  had  assisted,  he  issued  with  the  re- 
putation of  never  having  looked  up  to  a  post 
so  desirable  in  the  eyes  of  ambition,  and  of 
such  terrible  responsibility  to  a  pious  mind, 
but  upon  one  occasion,  when  one  of  his  col- 
leagues, a  person  of  great  influence,  came  to 
offer  him  his  vote,  and  that  (it  was  language 
that  was  used)  of  Ms  faction.  Federigo  re- 
fused the  proposition  in  such  a  way,  that  the 
matter  was  pursued  no  further,  and  he  gave 
his  influence  elsewhere.  The  same  modesty, 
the  same  disposition  to  avoid  command,  ap- 
peared equally  in  the  most  ordinary  occur- 
rences of  life.  Indefatigable  and  attentive  in 
arranging  and  directing,  where  he  deemed  it 
his  duty  to  do  so,  he  always  declined  inter- 
fering with  the  affairs  of  others ;  indeed,  he 
excused  himself  in  every  possible  way  from 
it,  even  when  he  was  pressed  to  do  so :  a  dis- 
cretion and  restraint  somewhat  uncommon,  as 
every  one  knows,  in  men  extremely  zealous 
of  doing  good,  as  Federigo  was. 

If  we  were  to  abandon  ourselves  to  the 
agreeable  occupation  of  collecting  the  remark- 
able traits  of  his  character,  there  would  cer- 
tainly result  a  singular  complication  of  merits 
apparently  opposed,  and  not  easily  united  to- 
gether. But  we  will  not  omit  mentioning  an- 
other singularity  of  his  rare  life,  that,  full  as 
it  was  with  the  energies  of  action,  of  govern- 
ment, of  functions,  of  instruction,  of  audien- 
ces, of  diocesan  visits,  of  journies,  and  of 
opposition,  he  not  only  found  time  for  study, 
but  so  much  time,  that  a  professional  man  of 
letters  could  not  have  done  more.  In  fact, 
amidst  the  other  various  titles  conferred  on 
him  by  public  admiration,  his  contemporaries 
gave  him,  in  a  high  degree,  the  praise  of  being 
a  learned  man. 

We  will  not,  however,  conceal,  that  he  en- 
tertained with  a  firm  persuasion,  and  sustained 
with  great  constancy,  some  opinions,  which  in 
our  day  would  seem  to  every  one  rather  odd 
than  ill  founded ;  I  mean  even  to  those  who 
might  have  a  strong  desire  to  find  them  right. 
Any  one  who  would  wish  to  defend  him  in 
this,  might  use  the  current  and  accepted  ex- 
cuse, that  they  were  the  errors  of  his  time, 
rather  than  his  own  :  an  excuse,  to  speak  the 
truth,  which,  when  it  is  suggested  by  a  parti- 
cular examination  of  facts,  may  be  valid  and 
significant;  but  when  generally,  and  thus 
nakedly  applied,  as  is  commonly  done,  and  as 
we  must  do  in  this  case,  means  nothing  at  all. 
And  still,  not  intending  to  resolve  complicated 
questions  by  simple  assertions,  we  shall  for- 
bear to  expound  them,  contenting  ourselves 
with  observing,  in  a  rapid  way,  and  that  we 
may  not  appear  to  have  intended  to  compose  a 
funeral  oration,  that  in  a  man  so  admirably 
composed  in  the  whole,  we  do  not  pretend  that 
every  thing  was  excellent  alike. 


142 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


We  certainly  are  not  doing  wrong  to  our 
readers  by  supposing  that  some  of  them  may 
ask  if  a  man  of  so  much  talent  and  applica- 
tion has  left  no  monument  behind  him.  Left 
any!  Betwixt  great  and  small,  he  has  left 
about  one  hundred,  in  Latin  and  Italian,  in 
print  and  in  manuscript,  which  are  preserved 
in  the  library  founded  by  him :  treatises  on 
morals,  orations,  dissertations  on  history,  sa- 
cred and  profane  antiquity,  literature,  the  arts, 
and  other  branches. 

And  how  is  it,  the  reader  will  say,  that  so 
many  works  are  forgotten,  or  at  least  so  little 
known,  so  little  inquired  after?  How  is  it, 
that  with  so  much  talent,  so  much  study,  so 
much  practical  knowledge  of  men  and  things, 
so  much  meditation,  so  much  ardor  for  all  that 
is  excellent  and  beautiful,  so  much  candor  of 
soul,  and  so  many  of  those  other  qualities  that 
constitute  a  great  writer,  this  man  has  not,  in 
a  hundred  works,  left  even  one  that  might  be 
judged  remarkable  by  those  who  could  not  al- 
together approve  of  it,  or  be  known  by  its 
title,  even  by  those  who  have  not  read  it? 
How  is  it  that  all  of  them  put  together  have 
not  been  sufficient,  even  by  their  number,  to 
procure  for  his  name  a  literary  reputation  with 
posterity  ?  The  inquiry  is  a  reasonable  one 
beyond  all  doubt,  and  the  question  is  interest- 
ing enough,  because  the  reasons  of  a  pheno- 
menon of  this  kind,  are  to  be  found,  or  at  least 
it  would  be  necessary  to  seek  them,  in  many 
general  facts ;  and  when  got  at,  they  would 
lead  to  the  explanation  of  other  similar  pheno- 
mena. But  they  would  be  numerous  and  pro- 
lix, and  then  if  you  should  not  happen  to  be 
satisfied  with  them  ?  if  they  should  nappen  to 
put  you  out  of  temper  ?  Upon  the  whole,  it 
will  be  better  to  talce  up  the  thread  of  our 
story,  and  instead  of  gossipping  any  longer 
about  this  man,  let  us  take  a  look  at  him  in 
action,  under  the  guidance  of  our  author. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  Cardinal  Federigo,  as  was  his  custom 
at  every  leisure  moment,  was  reading,  until 
the  hour  to  go  to  church  to  perform  divine 
service  had  arrived,  when  the  chaplain  who 
officiated  as  crossbearer  entered,  with  an  un- 
quiet and  troubled  countenance. 

"  A  strange  visit,  very  strange  indeed,  most 
illustrious  monsignor!" 

"  Who  is  it?"  asked  the  cardinal. 

"Nothing  less  than  the  Signer /'an- 
swered the  chaplain,  and  articulating  the  syl- 
lables in  a  very  significant  manner,  uttered  the 
name  which  we  cannot  write  down  for  our 
readers.  Then  added,  "  he  is  here  at  the  door 
in  person,  and  all  he  asks  is  to  be  presented  to 
your  most  illustrious  excellency." 

"  He !"  said  the  cardinal,  with  his  counte- 
nance lighted  up,  shutting  the  book,  and  rising 


from  his  seat,  "  Let  him  come  in !  Let  him  come 
immediately!"  * 

"  But — "  replied  the  chaplain  without  mov- 
ing, your  most  illustrious  excellency  must 
know  who  he  is ;  the  outlaw,  the  famous—" 
"  And  is  it  not  a  rare  piece  of  good  fortune 
for  a  bishop,  that  a  desire  to  seek  for  him 
should  have  got  into  the  head  of  such  a  man  ?" 
"But — "  insisted  the  chaplain,  "we  can 
never  mention  certain  things,  but  Monsignor 
always  says  they  are  nonsense  ;  still  when  the 
case  occurs,  it  appears  to  me  to  be  a  duty. 
Zeal  creates  enemies  Monsignor,  and  we  know 
positively  that  more  than  one  scoundrel  has 
dared  to  threaten,  that  some  day  or  other — " 

"Well,  and  what  have  they  done?"  inter- 
rupted the  Cardinal. 

"I  say  that  this  man  is  a  monopolizer  of 
villanies,  a  desperate  person  that  is  connected 
with  the  most  furious  desperadoes,  and  he  may 
be  sent  here  to — " 

"Oh!  what  sort  of  discipline  is  this?  Fede- 
rigo interrupted  him  smiling,  "here  are  the 
soldiers  exhorting  the  general  to  be  afraid." 
Then  become  grave  and  thoughtful,  he  resum- 
ed, "  Saint  Charles  would  not  have  been  found 
thus  deliberating  whether  he  should  receive 
a  man  like  this,  ne  would  have  gone  himself 
to  seek  him.  Let  him  come  in  directly,  he 
has  waited  too  long  already." 

The  chaplain  moved,  saying  in  his  heart, — 
there  is  no  remedy,  what  headstrong  beings 
all  these  saints  are. 

Having  opened  the  door,  and  looked  into 
the  room  where  the  Un-named  and  the  others 
were,  he  saw  these  last  on  one  side 'whispering 
and  peeping  at  him,  who  was  standing  alone  in 
a  corner.  He  turned  towards  him,  and  exami- 
ning him  cautiously  from  his  neck  downwards, 
he  was  imagining  what  sort  of  arms  he  had 
about  him  hid  under  his  casaque  and  about 
which  truly  he  ought  to  have  asked  him  some 
questions,  before  he  introduced  him,  but  this 
he  could  not  resolve  to  do.  Having  got  to 
his  side,  he  said  "  Monsignor  is  waiting  for 
your  excellency,  please  to  come  with  me." 

And  going  oeiore  him  in  the  small  crowd 
that  immediately  gave  way,  he  threw  out  looks 
to  the  right  and  left  which  were  intended  to 
mean — wnat  can  be  done  ?  you  know  also  that 
he  will  always  have  his  own  way. 

The  chaplain  opened  the  door,  and  ushered 
in  the  Un-named.  Federigo  met  him  with  an 
earnest  and  serene  aspect  and  with  his  hands 
open  before  him,  as  though  he  had  been  ex- 

Eecting  him  :  he  made  signs  to  the  chaplain  to 
:ave  tne  room,  who  obeyed. 
The  two  remained  for  some  time  silent,  with 
their  thoughts,  from  various  motives,  suspend- 
ed. The  Un-named,  who  had  been  impelled 
by  an  inexplicable  agitation,  involuntary  on  his 
part,  rather  than  led  there  by  any  determined 
intention,  remained  also  involuntarily  torn  by 
two  opposing  passions;  the  desire  and  the 
confused  hope  to  find  some  relief  to  his  inter- 
nal torment,  and  on  the  other  hand,  a  vexation 
and  shame  to  come  there  like  a  penitent,  like 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


143 


one  who  had  submitted,  as  a  wretch  does  to 
confess  his  crimes,  and  to  implore  pardon  from 
a  man :  he  could  find  nothing  to  say,  nor  in- 
deed did  he  attempt  to  find  any  thing.  Yet, 
raising  his  eyes  to  the  countenance  of  that 
man,  he  felt  himself  more  and  more  overpow- 
ered with  a  sentiment  of  veneration  for  him, 
at  once  imperious  and  gentle,  which  increas- 
ing his  confidence,  softened  his  vexation,  and 
without  wounding  his  pride,  made  him  give 
place  and  remain  silent. 

The  presence  of  Federigo  in  fact  was  of 
that  class,  which  announced  superiority,  and 
made  it  amiable  at  the  same  time.  His  de* 
portment  was  naturally  composed,  and  almost 
involuntarily  majestic,  not  in  the  least  bowed 
or  affected  by  time.  A  steady  yet  lively  eye, 
a  brow,  frank  and  thoughtful :  even  in  his  whi- 
tened locks,  and  in  the  paleness  which  absti- 
nence, meditation,  and  fatigue  had  produced, 
a  kind  of  virgin  freshness  could  be  perceived : 
every  thing  in  his  countenance  indicated  that 
at  a  former  period,  it  had  possessed  every 
quality  that  constitutes  beauty :  the  habit  of 
entertaining  solemn  and  benevolent  thoughts, 
the  internal  peace  of  a  long  life,  the  love  of 
man,  the  continual  joy  of  an  ineffable  hope, 
had  substituted  in  his  noble  features,  I  would 
almost  say,  a  senile  beauty,  still  more  remark- 
able in  the  magnificent  simplicity  of  the  purple. 

He  also  kept  for  an  instant,  fixed  on  the  as- 
pect of  the  Un-named,his  penetrating  look.long 
exercised  in  gathering  the  thoughts  of  others 
from  the  expression  of  their  countenances,  and 
beneath  the  dark  and  troubled  features  of  the 

some- 
concei- 
ved, at  the  first  announcement  of  such  a  visit ; 
full  of  animation,  he  said  "  Oh !  what  a  wel- 
come visit  is  this !  and  how  grateful  I  ought 
to  be  to  you  for  such  a  good  resolution,  al- 
though I  deserve  some  little  reproach  from 
you !" 

"  Reproach !"  exclaimed  the  unknown,  as- 
tonished, but  softened  by  those  words  and  the 
manner  in  which  they  were  spoken,  pleased 
too  that  the  cardinal  had  broken  the  ice,  and 
begun  the  conversation. 

"  Certainly,  it  is  a  reproach  to  me,"  he  went 
on,  "  that  I  have  permitted  you  to  anticipate 
me,  when  so  long  ago,  so  many  times,  I 
might  have,  and  I  ought  to  have  gone  to  see 
you  myself." 

"  See  me,  you !  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ? 
Have  they  told  you  my  name?" 

"And  the  consolation  which  I  feel,  and 
which  certainly  is  manifested  in  my  face,  do 
you  think  I  could  have  felt  it  at  the  announce- 
ment and  sight  of  one  unknown  to  me  ?  It  is 
you  that  have  made  me  feel  so ;  you,  I  say, 
whom  I  ought  to  have  sought  out ;  you  whom 
at  least  I  have  so  much  loved  and  wept  over, 
for  whom  I  have  prayed  so  much ;  you,  of  all 
my  children,  and  I  love  them  all  most  cordial- 
ly, whom  I  should  have  most  desired  to  meet 
and  to  embrace,  if  I  could  have  encouraged  the 
hope  of  being  permitted  to  do  so.  But  God,  he 


person  before  him,  appearing  to  discover  sc 
thing  consistent  with  the  hope  he  had  cor 


alone  knows  how  to  produce  miracles,  aud 
makes  up  for  the  weakness  and  the  tardiness  of 
his  poor  creatures." 

The  Un-namedwas  astonished  at  an  address 
so  full  of  zeal,  and  fired  by  animation,  at  words 
which  formed  so  perfect  an  answer  to  what 
he  had  even  not  yet  uttered,  but  had  well  de- 
termined to  say ;  and  moved,  but  astonished, 
still  remained  silent. 

"And  how  then?"  said  Federigo,  still  more 
affectionately,  "  you  have  happy  news  to  give 
me,  and  you  keep  me  sighing  here  for  them." 

"  Happy  news  FIJI  have  hell  in  my  heart, 
and  how  can  I  be  the  bearer  of  happy  news  ? 
Say,  yourself,  if  you  know  it,  what  happy  news 
do  you  expect  to  hear  from  one  like  myself  ?" 

"That  God  has  touched  your  heart,  and 
wishes  to  make  you  his  own,"  replied  the 
cardinal  quietly. 

"  God  !  God !  God !  If  I  could  see  him !  If 
I  could  feel  him  !  where  is  this  God  ?" 

"  Do  you  ask  me  that  ?  you  ?  and  who  is  he 
nearer  to  than  yourself?  Do  not  you  feel  him 
in  your  heart ;  is  he  not  struggling  within  you, 
agitating  you?  does  he  leave  you  alone  for  a 
moment?  and  at  the  same  time  does  not  he 
draw  you  gently  to  him  ?  does  not  he  make 
you  feel  a  hope  of  peace,  of  consolation,  of  a 
consolation  that  shall  be  full,  immense,  as  soon 
as  you  shall  have  acknowledged  him,  confessed 
him,  and  implored  his  mercy?" 

"  Certainly !  I  have  something  that  strug- 
gles within  me,  that  devours  me  !  But  God  \ 
if  this  is  God,  if  it  is  be  of  whom  they  speak, 
what  would  you  have  him  make  of  me  ?" 

These  words  were  uttered  with  an  accent  of 
despair,  but  Federigo,  with  a  solemn  tone,  as 
of  placid  inspiration,  answered,  "What  can 
God  make  of  you  ?  what  can  he  do  with  you  ? 
A  glorious  mark  of  his  power  and  his  goodness, 
he  means  to  be  glorified  by  you  more  than  he 
could  be  by  others.  If  the  world  has  cried  out 
so  long  against  you,  if  a  thousand  and  a  thou- 
sand voices  have  been  raised  in  detestation  of 
your  deeds,  (the  Un-named  started,  and  was  as- 
tounded for  a  moment  to  hear  such  unaccus- 
tomed language  spoken  to  him,  and  still  more 
so  to  find  that  he  was  rather  relieved  than  an- 
gered at  it,)  what  glory,"  pursued  Federigo, 
"  does  not  God  receive  ?  They  have  been 
voices  of  terror,  voices  of  interest,  voices,  per- 
haps, of  justice,  but  o£-a  justice  so  easy,  so 
natural !  Some,  perhaps,  have  been  tingecl  with 
envy  of  your  deplorable  power,  and  of  your 
hitherto  bad  inflexibility  of  mind.  But  when 
you  yourself  stand  up  to  condemn  your  own 
life,  to  accuse  yourself,  then !  then,  indeed,  God 
will  be  glorified !  and  you  ask  what  God  can 
make  of  you  ?  Who  am  I,  poor  creature,  to  be 
able  to  tell  you,  at  this  time,  what  profit  such 
a  master  may  draw  out  of  you  ?  what  direc- 
tion he  may  give  to  your  impetuous  will,  to 
your  imperturbable  perseverance,  when  he 
has  animated  it,  inflamed  it  with  love,  with 
hope,  with  repentance  ?  Who  are  you,  poor 
man,  that  think  you  have  been  able,  by  your- 
self, to  execute  things  more  extraordinary  in 


144 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


evil  than  God  may  cause  you  to  imagine  and 
to  make  perfect  in  works  of  goodness  ?  What 
can  God  make  of  you  ?  Cannot  he  pardon  you  ? 
Cannot  he  bring  you  to  salvation  ?  Cannot  he 
fulfil  in  you  the  work  of  redemption  ?  Are  not 
these  magnificent  things,  and  worthy  of  him  ? 
Oh,  think  only !  if  I,  who  am  nothing  but  a 
man,  a  miserable  creature,  and  still  so  full  of 
myself,  if  I,  such  as  I  am,  feel  so  deeply  inte- 
rested in  your  salvation,  that  to  secure  it  I 
would  lay  down  with  joy  (God  is  my  witness) 
the  few  days  that  remain  to  me ;  think,  then, 
how  great,  and  how  inconceivable,  is  the  love 
of  him,  who  has  drawn  me  to  you  in  this  im- 
perfect but  lively  manner ;  how  much  he  loves 
you,  how  he  attects  you ;  he  who  commands 
and  who  inspires  in  my  heart  a  love  that  de- 
vours me ! " 

As  these  words  came  from  his  lips,  his  coun- 
tenance, his  looks,  every  motion,  expressed 
their  meaning.  The  face  of  his  auditor,  at 
first  turned  aside  and  convulsed,  soon  became 
full  of  astonishment  and  attention ;  as  he  pro- 
ceeded, his  agitation  became  deeper,  but  less 
full  of  anguish :  his  eyes  that  from  infancy  had 
shed  no  tears,  began  to  swell,  and  when  the 
cardinal  had  ceased,  he  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands,  and  burst  out  into  a  loud  sobbing, 
the  last  and  the  most  unequivocal  answer. 

"Almighty  and  kind  God  !"  exclaimed  Fe- 
derigo,  raising  his  eyes  and  his  hands  to  hea- 
ven, "  what  have  I,  useless  servant,  slumber- 
ing pastor,  ever  done,  that  thou  shouldest  call 
me  to  this  feast  of  grace,  that  thou  shouldesl 
have  made  me  worthy  to  assist  at  such  a  joyful 
prodigy  ?"  Saying  this,  he  put  out  his  hand  to 
take  that  of  the  Un-named. 

"  No !"  exclaimed  he,  "  No !  keep  yourself 
far,  far  from  me,  do  not  defile  that  beneficent 
and  innocent  hand.  You  do  not  know  what 
the  hand  has  done  that  you  seek  to  clasp." 

"  Let  me,"  said  Federigo,  taking  his  hand 
with  an  affectionate  violence,  "  let  me  press 
the  hand  that  can  repair  so  many  wrongs,  that 
can  dispense  so  much  beneficence,  that  can 
raise  up  so  many  who  are  afflicted,  that  will 
now  otter  itself  unarmed  in  peacefulness  and 
in  humility,  to  so  many  enemies." 

"  This  is  too  much,"  said  the  Un-named,  sob- 
bing, "  leave  me,  Monsignor,  good  Federigo, 
leave  me.  An  assembled  people  awaits  you ; 
so  many  pure  souls,  so  many  innocents,  so 
many  of  them  come  from  afar  to  look  once 
upon  your  face,  to  hear  the  sound  of  your 
voice ;  and  you— you  are  detaining  yourself 
with — with  whom  !" 

"  Let  us  leave  the  ninety-nine  sheep,"  re- 
plied the  cardinal ;  "  they  are  safe  on  the 
mountain ;  I  wish  now  to  stay  with  the  one 
that  was  lost.  Those  good  souls  are,  perhaps, 
now  infinitely  more  content,  than  they  could 
be  at  seeing  this  poor  bishop.  Perhaps  God, 
who  has  worked  in  you  this  prodigy  of  mercy, 
has  spread  in  their  hearts  a  joy,  at  this  mo- 
ment, the  cause  of  which  they  yet  know  not. 
The  people,  perhaps,  are  in  their  hearts  united 
to  us  without  knowing  it :  perhaps  the  Holy 


Spirit  has  breathed  into  them  an  indistinct  ar- 
dor of  charity,  a  prayer  for  you  that  is  favora- 
bly received  by  him,  a  pouring  out  of  thanks 
of  which  you  are  the  yet  unknown  object." 
Saying  this,  he  extended  his  arms  towards  the 
neck  of  the  Un-named,  who,  after  endeavoring 
to  avoid  it,  and  resisting  for  a  moment,  yielded^ 
and  altogether  subdued  by  so  much  charity 
and  love,  embraced  the  cardinal  himself,  and 
let  his  trembling  and  now  changed  counte- 
nance, fall  upon  his  shoulders.  His  burning 
tears  fell  upon  the  uncontaminated  purple  ot 
Federigo,  whose  unstained  hands  affectionately 
drew  to  him,  and  pressed  to  his  bosom,  the  ca- 
saque  that  had  borne  the  arms  of  violence  and 
treachery. 

The  Un-nained  loosening  himself  from  the 
embrace,  again  covered  his  eyes  with  one  of 
his  hands,  and  raising  his  lace,  exclaimed, 
"  God,  truly  great !  god,  truly  good !  I  know 
myself  now,  I  comprehend  who  I  am.  My 
iniquities  are  before  me,  I  tremble  at  myself; 
still — still  I  experience  a  comfort,  a  joy,  yes  a 
joy,  such  as  I  have  never  before  experienced 
during  the  whole  of  my  horrible  life  !" 

"  It  is  a  foretaste  that  god  gives  you  to  al- 
lure to  his  service,  to  encourage  you  to  enter 
resolutely  into  the  new  life  in  which  you  have 
so  much  to  undo,  so  much  to  repair,  so  much 
to  lament  over." 

"  Wretch  that  I  am !"  exclaimed  he,  "how 
many,  many  things  I  can  do  nothing  but  la- 
ment over !  But  at  least,  there  are  still  some 
enterprises  scarce  begun,  which  if  I  can  do 
nothing  else,  I  can  stop,  one  there  is  that  I  can 
immediately  arrest,  and  entirely  repair." 

Federigo  was  all  attention,  whilst  the  Un- 
named briefly  related  to  him,  but  in  terms  per- 
haps of  greater  execration  than  we  have  done, 
his  forcible  abduction  of  Lucia,  the  sufferings, 
the  terrors  of  the  poor  girl,  the  manner  in 
which  she  had  implored  him,  the  agitation  she 
had  created  in  him,  and  that  she  was  still  in 
the  castle — 

"Ah!  let  us  lose  no  time.!"  exclaimed 
Federigo,  breathless  with  compassion  and  so- 
licitude. "  Blessed  are  you !  this  is  an  earn- 
est of  God's  pardon !  to  enable  you  to  become 
the  instrument  of  saving  one  whom  you  was 
seeking  to  destroy.  God  bless  you  !  God  has 
blessed  you  !  Do  you  know  what  part  of  the 
country  this  poor  distressed  creature  belongs 
to?" 

The  Un-named  told  the  cardinal  whence 
she  came. 

"  It  is  not  far  from  here,"  replied  he,  "  God 
be  praised,  and  probably — ."  Saying  this  he 
went  to  a  table  and  rang  a  little  bell.  The 
chaplain  cross-bearer  anxiously  entered,  and 
the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  look  at  the  Un- 
named; observing  his  changed  countenance, 
and  his  eyes  red  with  weeping,  he  looked  at 
the  cardinal,  and  amidst  his  unalterable  com- 
posure, perceiving  in  his  countenance  an  in- 
nate content,  and  an  extraordinary  solicitude, 
he  got  into  a  sort  of  extasy,  with  his  mouth 
wide  open,  which  the  cardinal  soon  roused 


I  FROMESSI  SPOSI. 


145 


him  from,  by  asking  if  amongst  the  parish 
priests  now  assembled,  the  one  belonging  to 
was  there. 

"He  is,  most  illustrious  Monsignor,"  an- 
swered the  chaplain. 

"  Let  him  come  in  immediately,"  said  Fede- 
rigo, "and  with  him  the  parish  priest  of  this 
place  also." 

The  chaplain  left  the  room,  and  went  to  that 
where  the  priests  were  congregated  together-; 
all  eyes  were  turned  on  him.  With  his  mouth 
still  open,  and  his  features  still  impressed  with 
astonishment,  he  raised  his  hands,  and  waving 
them  in  the  air,  said  "  Gentlemen,  gentlemen ! 
fuse  mutatia  dextera  Ezcelsi,"  and  stopped 
without  adding  any  thing  else.  Then  resum- 
ing his  accustomed  tone  and  manner,  he  added, 
"  his  most  illustrious  and  most  reverend  excel- 
lency desires  to  see  the  Signer  curate  of  this 
parish,  and  the  Signer  curate  of ." 

The  first  named  came  forward  immediately, 
and  at  the  same  time  a  voice  exclaiming  ine  ? 
came  from  the  midst  of  the  company,  drawled 
out,  with  an  intonation  of  wonder. 

"  Are  not  you  the  Singor  curate  of ," 

said  the  chaplain. 

"  Precisely,  but — 

"  His  most  illustriofts  and  most  reverend  ex- 
cellency desires  to  see  you." 

"Me?"  said  the  same  voice,  clearly  signify- 
ing by  that  monosyllable, — how  can  I  possibly 
go  in  there  ?  But  this  time  with  the  voice,  there 
came  out  the  man  likewise,  Don  Abbondio  in 
person,  with  an  unwilling  step,  and  a  face  half 
annoyed,  and  half  astonished.  The  chaplain 
made  him  a  sign  with  his  hand,  which  meant, — 
come,  let  us  go,  what  makes  you  so  slow  ?  And 
going  before  the  two  curates,  he  opened  the 
door,  and  introduced  them. 

The  cardinal  quitted  the  hand  of  the  un- 
known, with  whom  he  had  in  the  meantime 
concerted  what  was  to  be  done,  removed  a 
short  distance  from  him,  and  beckoned  the 
curate  of  the  parish  to  him.  Informing  him 
of  what  was  going  on,  he  asked  if  he  could 
find  a  good  woman  immediately,  who  would 
go  in  a  litter  to  the  castle  to  receive  Lucia ;  a 
stout  hearted  and  fearless  woman,  who  would 
understand  how  to  conduct  herself  in  an  expe- 
dition of  so  new  a  character,  who  would  adapt 
her  manners  to  the  occasion,  would  use  a  lan- 
guage best  suited  to  cheer  and  tranquilize  the 
poor  girl,  to  whom,  after  so  much  anguish  and 
trouble,  this  deliverance  itself  might  occasion 
new  distress  and  confusion.  Having  thought 
a  moment,  the  curate  said  he  knew  a  fit  per- 
son, and  left  the  room.  The  cardinal  then 
beckoned  the  chaplain,  and  ordered  him  to 
have  the  litter  got  ready  with  the  bearers,  and 
to  saddle  the  two  mules  for  riding.  The  chap- 
lain being  gone,  he  turned  to  Don  Abbondio. 

He  had  already  drawn  rather  nigh  to  the 
cardinal  in  order  to  get  at  a  comfortable  dis- 
tance from  the  Un-named,  and  was  quietly 
peeping  first  at  one  and  then  the  other,  con- 
triving in  his  head  what  all  this  could  possibly 
be  about,  when  coming  forward  a  little,  he 
19 


j  bowed,  and  saidj  "  It  has  been  signified  to  me 
'  that  your  most  illustrious  excellency  wished 
to  see  me,  but  I  suppose  they  have  made  u 
mistake." 

"It  is  no  mistake,"  said  Federigo,  "  I  have 
a  glad  piece  of  news  to  tell  you,  and  a  most 
consoling  and  delightful  charge  to  entrust  you 
with.  One  of  your  parishioners,  that  you  have 
lamented  as  lost,  Lucia  Mondella,  has  been 
found ;  she  is  in  the  neighborhood,  in  the 
house  of  this  dear  friend  of  mine  ;  and  you 
shall  now  go  with  him,  and  with  a  woman 
whom  the  curate  of  this  place  is  gone  for ;  you 
shall  go,  I  say,  to  receive  this  poor  creature  of 
yours,  and  shall  accompany  her  here." 

Don  Abbondio  did  his  very  best  to  conceal 
his  vexation,  what  shall  I  say  ?  His  distress 
and  the  bitter  annoyance  this  proposition  or 
command  imposed  upon  him  ;  and  not  having 
time  to  get  rH  of  the  ugly  grimaces  that  it  had 
brought  into  his  countenance,  he  endeavored 
to  conceal  them,  by  bowing  profoundly,  as  a 
sign  of  obedience.  And  he  only  raised  it  to 
make  another  profound  bow  to  the  Un-named, 

with  a  piteous  sort  of  look,  that  said I  am 

altogether  in  your  hands,  have  mercy  on  me — 
parcere  subjects. 

The  cardinal  then  inquired  of  him  what  re- 
lations Lucia  had  ? 

"  She  has  no  near  relations  with  whom  she 
lives  or  could  reside,  except  her  mother,"  an- 
swered Don  Abbondio. 

"Is  she  at  home?" 

"  Yes,  Monsignor." 

"  Since,"  said  Federigo,  "  this  poor  maiden 
cannot  be  so  soon  restored  to  her  home,  it  will 
be  a  great  consolation  to  her  to  see  her  mother 
as  soon  as  possible  ;  but  if  the  curate  does  not 
get  back  before  I  go  to  church,  I  shall  ask  you 
to  tell  him  to  get  a  wagon,  or  something  to 
ride  on,  and  to  send  some  discreet  man  to  find 
her  mother  and  bring  her  here."  "  Perhaps  if 
I  was  to  go  ?"  said  Abbondio. 

"  No,  no,  not  you ;  I  have  asked  you  to  do 
something  else,"  answered  the  cardinal. 

"  I  meant,"  said  Don  Abbondio,  "  merely 
to  prepaie  the  poor  mother ;  she  is  a  very  sen- 
sitive woman,  and  it  will  require  one  who  is 
acquainted  with  her,  and  who  knows  how  to 
talk  to  her,  so  that  no  harm  may  be  done  to 
her,  instead  of  good." 

"  And  on  this  account  I  beseech  you  to  tell 
the  curate  to  choose  a  man  proper  for  that, 
you  will  effect  a  better  work  in  another  place/' 
replied  the  cardinal.  And  he  would  have 
wished  to  add,  that  poor  girl  has-gfeat  need  of 
seeing  some  known  face  that  she  can  confide 
in,  in  that  castle,  after  so  many  hours  of  dread- 
ful sufferings,  and  amidst  such  an  uncertainty 
of  the  future.  But  he  restrained  himself  on 
account  of  the  presence  of  the  Un-named.  It 
appeared  strange,  however,  to  the  cardinal, 
that  Don  Abbondio  had  not  thought  of  it  him- 
self, and  he  WHS  so  struck  with  nis  offer  and 
his  persisting  in  it,  so  out  of  place,  that  he 
began  to  think  there  was  something  under  all 
this.  Looking  in  his  face,  he  easily  per- 


146 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


ceived  the  dread  which  was  visible  there  of 
traveling  with  that  tremendous  man,  and  of 
being  his  guest,  even  for  a  few  instants.  De- 
sirous of  dissipating  these  cowardly  apprehen- 
sions, and  not  liking  to  draw  the  curate  aside 
and  speak  to  him  apart,  whilst  his  new  friend 
was  there,  he  thought  it  would  be  best  to  do 
what  he  would  even  have  done  without  this 
particular  motive,  speak .  to  the  Un-named 
himself,  and  from  his  answer  Don  Abbondio 
would  finally  comprehend  that  he  was  not  a 
man  to  be  any  longer  afraid  of.  He,  therefore, 
approached  the  unknown,  and  with  that  ap- 
pearance of  spontaneous  confidence  which  is 
felt  by  a  new  and  potent  affection,  as  well  as 
by  an  ancient  intimacy,"  do  not  imagine,  he 
said, "  that  I  shall  be  satisfied  with  one  visit  for 
today  !  You  will  return,  is  it  not  so  ?  in  com- 
pany with  this  worthy  ecclesiastic  ?" 

"If  I  shall  return,"  replied  the  Un-named, 
"  if  even  you  were  to  deny  yourself  to  me,  I 
would  obstinately  remain  at  your  door,  like  a 
mendicant.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  !  I  want  to 
hear  you,  to  see  you !  I  want  you  altogether !" 

Federigo  took  his  hand,  pressed  it,  and  said, 
"  You  will  then  do  the  pastor  of  this  parish 
and  myself  the  favor  of  dining  with  us.  I 
shall  expect  you.  In  the  mean  time  I  go  to 
pray,  and  to  offer  up  thanks  with  the  people, 
whilst  you  will  go  and  gather  the  first  fruits 
of  mercy." 

Don  Abbondio,  at  such  demonstrations,  stood 
like  a  frightened  boy  who  sees  a  man  caressing 
a  great  ferocious  looking  hairy  dog,  with  red 
eyes,  and  a  famous  bad  name  for  biting  and 
attacking  people.  "  What  a  nice,  quiet,  good 
do»  that  is  of  yours,"  says  a  bystander  to  him, 
and  the  boy  looks  at  the  man,  who  neither  con- 
tradicts nor  assents  :  he  looks  at  the  dog,  but 
has  not  the  courage  to  go  near  him,  lest  the 
nice,  quiet,  good  dog  should  show  his  teeth,  if 
only  for  the  love  of  sport ;  and  he  does  not 
like  to  push  oS',  lest  he  should  seem  a  coward, 
whilst  he  is  saying  in  his  heart,  I  wish  I  was 
at  home ! 

The  cardinal,  who  had  moved  to  depart,  hold- 
ing the  Un-named  all  the  time  by  the  hand, 
and  drawing  him  with  him,  looked  again  at 
poor  Don  Abbondio,  who  remained  behind, 
stupid,  mortified,  and  with  a  face  as  long  as 
his  arm.  And  thinking,  perhaps,  that  his  cha- 
grin might  be  caused  by  his  appearing  to  be 
neglected  and  left  in  a  corner,  and  especially 
whore  so  great  a  criminal  seemed  welcomed 
and  caressed  in  preference  to  himself,  turned 
towards  him  in  passing,  stopped  a  moment, 
and  with  a  courteous  smile,  said,  "  Signor  cu- 
rate, you  are  always  with  me  in  the  house  of 
our  good  father,  but  this — this  one  "perierat 
tt  inventv9  ett." 

"  Oh,  how  happy  I  am !"  said  Don  Abbon- 
dio, making  a  profound  reverence  to  them  both. 

The  archbishop  went  before,  pushed  the 
doors,  which  were  immediately  thrown  wide 
open  by  two  servants,  who  stood  at  the  sides, 
and  the  wonderful  pair  appeared  before  the 
longing  eyes  of  the  clergymen  assembled  in 


the  room.  They  gazed  upon  their  two  coun- 
tenances on  which  were  depicted  emotions  of 
a  different  kind,  but  equally  deep :  an  acknow- 
ledged tenderness,  a  humble  joy  played  on  the 
venerable  features  of  Federigo ;  upon  those  of 
the  Un-named  was  perceived  a  disorder  tem- 
pered by  comfort,  a  nascent  diffidence,  a  com- 
punction, through  which  still  transpired  the 
vigor  of  that  wild  and  awakened  nature.  And 
it  was  afterwards  known,  that  that  passage  in 
Isaiah  occurred  to  more  than  one  of  the  spec- 
tators, "  the  wolf  also  shall  dwell  with  the  lamb? 
and  the  calf  arid  the  young  lion  and  the  fallings 
together."  Don  Abbondio  came  after  him,  but 
no  one  looked  at  him. 

When  they  were  in  the  centre  of  the  room, 
one  of  the  chamberlains  of  the  cardinal  en- 
tered on  the  other  side,  and  drew  near  to  him 
to  say  that  the  orders  he  had  received  from  the 
chaplain  had  been  executed,  that  the  litter  and 
the  two  mules  were  ready,  and  that  they  were 
only  waiting  for  the  woman  that  the  curate 
was  to  find.  The  cardinal  told  him  that  when 
he  arrived,  he  must  tell  the  curate  to  speak 
with  Don  Abbondio,  under  whose  direction, 
and  that  of  the  Un-named,  every  thing  was  to 
be  placed.  He  again  pressed  the  hand  of  this 
last,  in  the  act  of  taking  leave,  saying,  "  i 
shall  expect  you,"  then  turned  to  salute  Don 
Abbondio  with  an  inclination  of  his  head,  and 
moved  in  the  direction  of  the  church;  the 
clergy  followed  behind,  in  a  sort  of  mixed  pro- 
cession, and  the  two  traveling  companions  re- 
mained alone  in  the  room  together. 

The  Un-named  was  wrapt  up  in  himself, 
thoughtful;  and  impatient  for  the  moment  to 
arrive  when  he  could  go  and  deliver,  from  suf- 
fering and  imprisonment,  his  Lucia :  his,  in  a 
sense  so  different  from  that  in  which  she  had 
been  the  preceding  day.  His  countenance  ex- 
pressed a  concentrated  agitation,  which,  to  the 
jealous  eye  of  Don  Abbondio,  might  easily 
forbode  something  worse.  He  took  a  glance 
at  him,  and  would  fain  have  brought  about  a 
friendly  conversation,  but  what  have  I  got  to 
say  to  him,  thought  he ;  shall  I  repeat  again, 
oh,  how  happy  I  am !  Happy  at  what  ?  Why, 
because,  having  been  a  perfect  devil  till 
now,  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  be  an 
honest  man,  like  other  people.  A  pretty  sort 
of  compliment !  Ay,  ay,  turn  the  words  as  I 
will,  they  will  mean  nothing  but  that  at  last 
And  whether  it  is  true  or  not,  that  he  has  be- 
come an  honest  man  so  all  of  a  sudden  !  Peo- 
ple put  on  appearances  so  often  in  this  world, 
and  for  so  many  reasons !  How  can  I  tell 
whether  they  are  always  in  earnest  or  not  ? 
And  in  the  meantime,  I  am  told  to  go  with 
him  into  that  castle  !  Oh,  what  a  fine  story  this 
is !  A  pretty  piece  of  business  to  be  sure  ! 
Who  would  have  thought  of  such  a  thing  this 
morning  ?  If  I  get  safe  and  sound  out  oi  this 
scrape,  the  Signora  Perpetua  shall  hear  my 
mind  about  it  She  must  drive  me  away  from 
my  parish  when  there  was  not  the  least  neces- 
sity for  it ;  and  that  all  the  parish  priests  were 
coming  from  every  quarter,  from  the  greatest 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


147 


distances,  and  that  there  must  be  no  lagging  be- 
hind, and  that  this  must  be  done,  and  that  must 
be  done,  and  so  get  we  embarked  in  a  concern 
of  this  kind.  Oh !  unfortunate  me  !  still  it  is 
absolutely  necessary  to  say  something  to  him. 
And  he  had  just  made  up  his  mind  to  say — I 
could  never  have  supposed  it  would  be  my 
good  fortune  to  get  into  such  respectable  com- 
pany— and  was  just  opening  his  mouth,  when 
the  chamberlain  entered  with  the  village  cu- 
rate to  say  that  the  woman  was  ready  in  the 
litter,  and  to  ask  Don  Abbondio  for  the  direc- 
tions the  cardinal  had  left  with  him.  Don 
Abbondio  communicated  them  as  well  as  his 
confused  state  of  mind  admitted,  and  whis- 
pered to  the  chamberlain,  "  Give  me  a  quiet 
beast,  at  least ;  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  am  no 
great  cavalier." 

"Just  figure  to  yourself,"  said  the  cham- 
berlain, half  grinning,   "it's  the  secretary's 
mule  ;  he's  nothing  but  a  man  of  letters  you  ! 
know." 

"  That's  sufficient,"  replied  Don  Abbondio,  I 
and  continued  thinking — Heaven  send  me  a  j 
good  time  of  it. 

The  Un-named  when  he  heard  the  litter  an- 
nounced, eagerly  left  the  room,  but  when  he 
reached  the  door,  and  found  Don  Abbondio 
was  behind,  he  stopped  a  moment ;  arriving 
in  haste,  and  being  about  to  excuse  himself, 
the  Un-named  bowed  to  him,  and  made  him  ; 
pass  on  before  with  a  courteous  and  humble  de-  ! 
meanor,  that  produced  a  favorable  effect  upon  ' 
the  nerves  of  the  poor  man.    But  scarcely  had  j 
they  reached  the  court-yard,  when  another  no- 
velty occurred  which  broke  up  all  his  comfort ;  | 
he  saw  the  Un-named  go  to  a  corner,  lay  hold  | 
of  his  carabine  with  one  hand  by  the  stock,  • 
and  by  the  strap  with  the  other,  and  sling  it  | 
over  his  neck,  with  a  rapid  motion,  as  if  he  j 
was  doing  his  exercise. 

Ay'  ay!  ay!— thought  Don  Abbondio — 
what  is  he  going  to  do  with  that  machine,  eh  ? 
Pretty  sort  of  hair  cloth  that !  Pretty  discipline 
for  a  new  convert !  And  if  some  mad  notion 

fts  into  his  head  ?  Oh !  what  an  expedition 
am  going  on  !  Oh  !  what  an  expedition  ! 

If  the  Un-named  could  possibly  have  imagi- 
ned what  sort  of  notions  were  at  work  in  his 
companion's  head,  there  is  no  knowing  what 
he  might  have  said  to  reassure  him ;  but  he 
was  far  from  thinking  about  it  at  all,  and  Don 
Abbondio  was  very  careful  not  to  betray 
openly  his  doubts.  Having  reached  the  gate 
of  the  street,  they  found  the  mules  harnessed, 
and  the  Un-named  mounted  the  one  which  a 
palfrenier  presented  to  him. 

"  He  is  not  vicious,  eh  ?"  said  Don  Abbon- 
dio, to  the  chamberlain,  with  one  foot  in  the 
stirrup,  and  another  on  the  ground. 

"  You  can  mount  him  with  confidence,  he  is 
a  perfect  lamb,"  answered  he.  Don  Abbon- 
dio now  laid  hold  of  the  saddle,  the  chamber- 
lain gave  him  a  lift,  and  at  length  he  got  fairly 
astride. 

The  litter  which  was  a  few  paces  before, 
with  a  pair  of  mules,  now  moved  on  at  the 


!  voice  of  the  driver,  and  the  whole  convoy  got 
under  way. 

It  was  necessary  to  pass  before  the  church 
1  that  was  crowded  with  people,  and  through  a 
small  square,  in  like  manner  filled  with  the 
peasantry  that  had  not  been  able  to  get  in  the 
church.  The  great  news  were  already  spread, 
and  at  the  appearance  of  the  party,  of  that 
that  man  who  but  a  few  hours  before  had  been 
an  object  of  terror  and  execration,  but  now  of 
a  glad  astonishment,  a  murmur  of  applause 
arose  in  the  multitude,  and  whilst  they  made 
room  for  him  to  pass,  they  still  disputed  with 
one  another  to  get  a  good  opportunity  of  look- 
ing at  him.  The  litter  passed  on,  the  Un-nam- 
ed followed,  and  before  the  open  doors  of  the 
church  he  took  off  his  hat,  and  bowed  that 
front,  once  the  object  of  so  much  dread,  down 
to  the  very  neck  of  his  mule,  whilst  the  peo- 
ple whispered  audibly  out,  "  God  bless  him !" 
Don  Abbondio  also  took  off  his  hat,  bowed, 
and  recommended  himself  to  Heaven ;  but 
hearing  the  solemn  concert  of  his  brethren  in 
the  distant  chant,  he  felt  so  much  envy,  such 
a  mournful  sort  of  tenderness,  and  such  a 
compassion  at  heart  for  hiaiself,  assault  him, 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  he  could  restrain  his 
tears. 

Having  left  the  habitations,  and  reached  the 
open  country,  where  the  winding  paths  were 
lor  the  most  part  a  solitude,  a  darker  veil  be- 
gan to  extend  itself  over  his  thoughts.  He  had 
no  one  to  look  to  with  confidence  but  the  dri- 
ver of  the  litter,  who,  since  he  belonged  to  the 
cardinal's  establishment,  must  certainly  be  a 
man  to  be  depended  upon,  and  he  had  not  a 
cowardly  look  either.  Every  now  and  then 
they  met  groups  of  passengers  on  the  road, 
going  to  see  the  cardinal,  and  this  gave  Don  Ab- 
bondio some  passing  comfort ;  but  they  were 
approaching  that  terrible  valley,  where  there 
was  nobody  but  subjects  of  his  friend  at  his 
side  ;  and  what  subjects  ! 

He  now  wished  more  than  ever  to  get  into 
conversation  with  him,  as  well  to  hnd  out 
something  more,  as  to  keep  him  in  good  humor, 
but  he  appeared  so  deeply  pre-occupied,  that 
he  lost  the  inclination  to  do  it.  He  found  him- 
self therefore  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  talk- 
ing to  himself,  and  here  is  a  portion  of  his  re- 
flections during  the  ride,  for  if  we  were  to  put 
down  the  whole  of  them,  there  would  have 
been  enough  to  make  a  book. 

"It's  a  famous  saying,  that  great  saints  as  well 
great  sinners  have  got  quicksilver  in  them,  and 
that  they  are  not  satisfied  with  being  always 
in  motion,  and  worrying  themselves,  but  they 
must  make  the  whole  human  race  hop  and  skip 
about  into  the  bargain ;  and^  then  the  most 
outrageous  busy  bodies  amongst  them,  must 
just  take  it  into  their  heads  to  look  me  up,  me, 
who  never  trouble  myself  about  any  body; 
lugging  me  by  the  hair  of  my  head  into  their 
affairs,  me,  that  ask  no  favors  of  any  body,  but 
to  be  let  alone. 

"  That  mad  devil  Don  Rodrigo !  What  does 
he  want  in  this  world,  to  make  him  the  hap- 


148 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


piest  man  it,  if  he  had  the  least  imaginable 
degree  of  discretion.  Rich,  young,  respected, 
nay  courted,  nothing's  the  matter  with  him 
but  being  too  well  oft;  that's  his  complaint,  and 
so  to  cure  himself,  he  must  fain  be  worrying 
himself  and  every  body  else.  He  might  take 
np  the  trade  of  a  saint  if  he  liked,  but  no, 
Signor,  he  must  take  up  the  trade  of  running 
after  and  plaguing  the  women,  the  most  crazy, 
villanous  and  outrageous  calling  in  the  whole 
world.  Might  not  he  drive  into  paradise  with 
his  own  carriage  if  he  chose  ?  And  yet  he 
would  rather  go  to  the  devil's  den  with  a  game 
leg.  And  my  friend  here, — and  here  he 
looked  at  him,  as  if  he  was  afraid  of  his 
thoughts  being  heard.  He,  after  turning  the 
whole  country  topsy  turvy  with  his  villanies, 
has  now  set  it  all  crazy  with  this  affair  of  his 
conversion — if  indeed  there  i3  any  thing  in 
it  And  it  has  fallen  to  my  share  to  discover 
whether  it  is  so  or  not !  xes,  yes,  so  it  is, 
when  people  come  into  the  world  with  all  this 
fury  in  their  bodies,  they  must  for  ever  after 
be  kicking  up  such  confusion.  Can't  people 
be  contented  with  just  playing  the  honest  man 
as  I  have  been  doing  all  my  life  ?  No,  Signor, 
that's  not  enough,  they  must  take  to  killing, 
and  murdering,  and  quartering,  and  playing 
the  devil — Oh,  unfortunate  me !  And  then 
when  the  inclination  has  passed  away,  there 
must  be  more  confusion  about  their  repent- 
ance. When  a  man  really  wants  to  repent,  it 
can  be  done  at  home,  quietly,  without  so  much 
parade,  and  without  giving  so  much  trouble  to 
his  neighbors.  And  then  his  most  illustrious 
excellency — he  goes  off  all  at  once — just  like 
a  gun,  open  arms — my  dear  friend !  my  dear 
friend !  and  swallows  down  all  this  man  tells 
him,  just  as  easily  if  he  had  seen  him  do  mira- 
cles ;  and  then  right  off  he  comes  to  a  resolu- 
tion, jumps  into  it  hands  and  feet,  presto  here, 
presto  there — at  my  house  we  call  this  pre- 
cipitation !  But  the  worst  of  it  is,  that  with- 
out any  sort  of  security,  without  taking  a 
pledge  of  any  kind,  he  puts  a  poor  curate  into 
his  hands,  just  as  if  he  was  nothing  at  all. 
This  I  call  playing  at  odd  and  even  for  a  man  ! 
A  holy  bishop,  as  he  is,  should  hold  his  curates 
as  precious  as  he  does  the  apples  of  his  own 
eyes.  A  little  bit  of  moderation,  a  little  bit 
of  prudence,  and  a  little  bit  of  charity,  it  does 
*eein  to  me  would  become  holiness  very  well — 
And  if  all  this  should  be  nothing  but  a  bam  ? 
Who  is  there  knows  every  thing  that  men 
mean  ?  and  especially  such  men  as  our  friend 
here  ?  To  think  only  that  I  have  to  go  with 
him,  all  the  way  to  his  own  house !  There 
may  be  some  devilry  at  the  bottom  of  all  this. 
Oh !  Lord  help  us !  it's  better  not  to  think 
about  it !  What  is  all  this  imbroglio  about 
Lucia  ?  It's  clear  there  has  been  some  under- 
standing with  Don  Rodrigo.  What  men !  or 
it  could  not  be  just  as  it  is  :  but  how  has  this 
man  got  her  into  his  clutches  ?  Who  can  tell  ? 
It's  Monsignor's  secret,  and  me,  that  they  send 
trotting  about  in  this  way,  they  tell  me  no- 
thing. What  do  I  care  about  knowing  other 


people's  alfairs  ?  Still  when  one's  risking  one's 
own  skin,  one  ought  to  know  what  k'a  ullabout. 
If  it  was  simply  to  go  and  bring  away  that  poor 
creature,  one  might  be  patient ;  although  he 
might  as  well  have  brought  her  along  with 
him  at  first.  But  I  want  to  know  if  this  man 
is  so  completely  converted,  and  has  become 
such  a  piece  of  sanctity,  what  occasion  there 
was  to  send  me  ?  Oh,  what  a  chaos  ?  Well ! 
it  is  Heaven  has  ordered  it  to  be  so ;  its  a  trou- 
blesome business  to  be  sure,  but  patience  !  1 
shall  be  glad  for  that  poor  Lucia's  sake,  she 
has  got  out  of  a  great  scrape  no  doubt.  Heaven 
knows  how  much  she  has  suffered,  I  pity  her, 
but  it's  clear  she  was  born  for  my  ruin.  If  only 
I  could  see  into  this  man's  heait,  and  know 
what  he  is  thinking  about.  Who  can  compre- 
hend him?  Look  at  him,  sometimes  he  looks 
like  Saint  Anthony  in  the  Desert,  and  then 
again  he  looks  like  Holofernes  in  propria  per- 
sona. Oh,  poor  me!  poor  me!  Well,  Heaven 
at  any  rate  is  under  some  obligation  to  help 
me,  for  this  is  a  scrape  I  have  got  into  not  of 
my  own  seeking." 

In  fact,  upon  the  countenance  of  the  Un- 
named, thoughts  could  be  observed,  flitting 
like  clouds  in  a  storm  before  the  face  of  the 
sun,  where  the  fierceness  of  light  and  the 
gloom  of  shade  alternate  with  each  other. 
His  soul  still  luxuriating  in  the  sweet  words 
of  Federigo,  and  born  and  become  young 
again  in  this  new  life,  was  lifted  up  to  those 
ideas  of  mercy,  of  pardon,  and  of  love,  and 
then  sank  again  beneath  the  weight  of  the 
terrible  past.  Anxiously  his  mind  ran  over 
the  iniquities  he  could  repair,  the  violences  he 
could  arrest,  the  most  certain  and  expedi- 
tious remedies  he  had  in  his  power ;  how  he 
could  unloose  so  many  intricate  knots ;  what 
he  could  do  with  so  many  accomplices ;  it  was 
darkness  itself  to  think  all  this.  To  this  very 
expedition,  the  easiest  and  the  soonest  accom- 
plished, he  went  with  a  desire  perturbed  by 
anguish ;  by  the  thought,  that  whilst  she  was 
suffering,  heaven  knew  how  much,  it  was 
himself,  who  nevertheless  was  impatient  to 
deliver  her,  that  was  the  cause  of  her  misery. 
At  every  fork  of  the  road,  the  driver  turned 
to  receive  directions  how  to  proceed,  whilst 
the  Un-named  motioned  him  with  his  hand, 
and  made  signs  to  him  to  get  on. 

They  entered  the  valley.  How  did  poor 
Don  Abbondio  feel  then  ?  That  famous  valley  ! 
of  which  he  had  heard  so  many  black  and 
horrible  stories  told.  He  was  there  in  it! 
Those  famous  men,  the  flower  of  the  Bravos 
of  Italy,  men  without  fear  and  without  mercy, 
he  would  see  them  in  their  flesh  and  blood, 
he  woutd  meet  one,  two,  three  of  them  at 
every  turn  in  the  road.  All  bowed  submis- 
sively to  the  Un-named.  But  their  bronzed 
muzzles,  their  shaggy  mustachios,  their  fero- 
cious eyes,  spoke  but  one  language  to  Don 
Abbondio,  and  that  was — there's  a  priest 
going  to  get  it  finely ! — Such  an  effect  did 
they  produce  on  him,  that  at  one  moment  of 
his  consternation,  he  could  not  help  saying 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


149 


to  himself, — If  I  had  even  married  them, 
worse  than  this  could  not  have  happened  to 
me. 

In  the  meantime  they  pursued  a  gravelly 
path  hy  the  side  of  the  torrent :  in  front  no- 
thing was  to  be  seen  but  savage  and  rugged 
precipices ;  behind  them  was  apopulation,  the 
aspect  of  which  made  even  a  desert  desirable. 
Dante  was  not  worse  off,  in  the  centre  of  his 
Malebolge. 

They  passed  by  Malanotte.  Some  horrid 
looking  Bravos  were  standing  at  the  door, 
they  bowed  to  the  Un-named,  and  cast  a  sin- 
ister look  at  Don  Abbondio  and  the  litter. 
They  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  all  this : 
the  departure  of  the  Un-named  in  the  morn- 
ing, alone,  was  something  extraordinary,  his 
return  was  not  less  so.  Was  it  some  victim  he 
was  conducting  home.  How  had  he  contriv- 
ed to  get  possession  of  her  unaided  ?  And  a 
strange  litter  too,  how  was  that  ?  Who  could 
that  livery  belong  to?  They  looked,  and 
looked,  but  no  one  moved,  for  they  could  read 
from  his  eye  and  his  countenance  that  they 
were  not  to  stir. 

The  ascent  was  gained,  and  they  reached 
the  top.  The  Bravos  on  the  lawn  and  around 
the  door,  make  room  to  let  them  pass :  the 
Un-named  motions  them  to  be  still,  rides  on 
before  the  litter,  and  beckons  to  Don  Abbon- 
dio and  the  driver  to  follow  him.  Having 
entered  the  first  court,  and  passed  the  second, 
he  rode  up  to  a  small  door,  directed  a  Bravo 
who  ran  up  to  hold  the  stirrup,  with  a  sign  to 
stand  back,  and  said  to  him,  "  Remain  nere, 
and  let  no  one  come  nearer. "  Having  dis- 
mounted, he  went  to  the  litter  with  the  reins 
in  his  hand,  and  said  to  the  woman  in  an 
undertone,  who  had  drawn  the  curtain  aside, 
"  Console  her  immediately,  make  her  compre- 
nend  that  she  is  free,  and  that  she  is  in  the 
hands  of  friends ;  God  will  reward  you  for  it." 
He  then  ordered  the  driver  to  open  the  door  of 
the  litter,  and  let  the  woman  get  out.  Draw- 
ing near  to  Don  Abbondio,  with  a  serene 
countenance,  such  as  he  had  never  observed 
in  him  before,  nor  thought  him  capable  of  as- 
suming, with  a  joy  beaming  from  it  on  ac- 
count of  the  good  work  he  was  about  to  com- 
plete, he  assisted  him  to  dismount,  and  said  in 
an  under  tone,  "  Signer  curate,  I  do  not  ask 
you  to  excuse  me  for  the  inconvenience  you 
have  to  bear  on  my  account ;  you  are  endur- 
ing it  for  one  who  pays  well,  and  for  this  poor 
creature  of  his!" 

These  words  and  the  expression  of  his 
countenance  had  the  effect  of  placing  Don 
Abbondio's  heart  in  his  bosom  again.  Draw- 
ing a  sigh  that  had  been  pent  up  there  for 
an  hour,  without  being  able  to  get  out,  he  an- 
swered, in  a  tone  quite  submissive,  as  it  may- 
be taken  for  granted  "Your  excellency  is 
amusing  yourself  with  me,  but,  but,  but, — " 
and  accepting  the  hand  which  was  so  courte- 
ously offered  to  him,  he  slid  off  the  saddle  as 
well  as  he  could.  The  Un-named  took  the 
reins  of  Don  Abbondio's  mule  also,  and  con- 


signed both  the  animals  to  the  driver,  enjoin- 
ing him  to  wait  there  without.  Then  taking 
a  Icey  from  his  pocket  he  opened  the  small 
door,  made  the  curate  and  the  woman  enter, 
and  preceding  them  to  the  staircase,  all  three 
ascended  it  in  silence. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

LUCIA  had  been  but  a  short  time  awake, 
she  was  endeavoring  to  rouse  herself,  and  to 
separate  the  troubled  visions  of  sleep  from  the 
remembrances  and  the  images  of  that  reality, 
which  had  too  close  a  resemblance  to  the 
feverish  wanderings  of  an  invalid.  The  old 
woman  came  immediately  to  her,  and  with  a 
forced  humility  in  her  manner,  said,  "  Ah ! 
have  you  been  asleep  ?  You  might  have  slept 
in  the  bed,  I  told  you  so,  so  often  last  night.  " 
Receiving  no  answer,  she  continued  in  a  tone 
of  spiteful  entreaty,  "  Come,  eat  something, 
be  prudent.  How  ill  you  behave  '  you  ought 
to  eat  something,  or  when  he  returns,  he  will 
be  quarreling  with  me. " 

"  No,  no,  I  want  to  go  away,  I  want  to  go  to 
my  mother.  The  master  has  promised  me  I 
shall,  he  said  'tomorrow.'  Where  is  the 
master  ? " 

"  He  is  gone  away,  but  said  that  he  would 
return  soon,  and  that  he  would  do  all  that  you 
wished." 

"  Did  he  say  so  ?  did  he  say  so  ?  Well,  I 
want  to  go  to  my  mother,  now,  directly." 

A  noise  of  footsteps  was  now  heard  in  the 
adjoining  room,  then  a  knock  at  the  door.  The 
old  woman  ran  to  it,  and  asked,  "Who  is 
there  ?" 

"Open,"  softly  replied  the  known  voice. 
She  drew  the  fastening,  and  the  Un-named 
opening  the  door  ajar,  directed  the  old  woman 
to  come  out,  and  then  let  Don  Abbondio  and 
the  good  woman  go  in.  He  closed  the  door 
again,  and  taking  his  stand  near  it,  sent  the  old 
woman  to  a  distant  pail  of  the  castle,  where 
he  had  already  sent  the  other  female  that  had 
remained  in  the  antechamber. 

All  this  movement,  this  momentary  delay, 
and  the  first  appearance  of  persons  strange  to 
her,  caused  a  new  agitation  to  Lucia,  to  whom, 
if  her  present  state  was  intolerable,  every 
change  was  the  cause  of  alarm.  She  looked, 
and  saw  a  priest,  and  a  woman ;  she  took  a 
little  courage,  and  looked  more  attentively — it 
is  him,  or  it  is  not  him  ?  She  recognised  Don 
Abbondio,  and  remained  with  her  eyes  fixed  as 
if  she  was  enchanted.  The  woman  drawing 
nigh  to  her,  stooped  down,  and  piteously  re- 
garding her,  took  both  her  hands,  as  if  to  ca- 
ress her,  and  raise  her  up  at  the  same  time, 
saying,  "  Poor  dear  girl,  come,  come  with  us." 

"  Who  are  you  ?"  asked  Lucia,  but  without 
hearing  the  answer,  she  turned  to  Don  Abbon- 
dio, who  was  standing  near  her,  with  compas- 
sion even  in  his  features ;  again  she  looked  at 


150 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


him,  and  exclaimed,  "  Him  !  is  this  him  ?  the 
signer  curate  ?  Where  are  we  ?  oh  poor  me  ! 
I  am  afraid  I  am  out  of  my  wits  !" 

"  No,  no,"  replied  Don  Abbondio,  "  it  is  me 
indeed ;  take  courage.  Look  here !  we  are 
come  to  take  you  away.  I  am  your  curate 
himself,  come  here  on  purpose,  on  horse- 
back— " 

Lucia,  as  if  she  had  re-acquired  at  once  all 
her  strength,  jumped  up  on  her  feet,  looked 
steadily  in  both  their  faces  again,  and  exclaim- 
ed, "  It  is  then,  Madonna,  the  blessed  Virgin 
who  has  sent  you." 

"I  believe,  indeed,  it  is,"  said  the  good  wo- 
man. 

"  But  can  we  go  away  from  this  place  ?  can 
we  go  away  indeed?"  said  Lucia,  lowering 
her  voice,  with  a  timid  and  doubtful  look. 
"  And  all  those  men — "  she  continued,  with 
her  lips  trembling  with  dread  and  horror,  "  and 
the  master — !  the  man  that — !  he  promised 
me—  !" 

"  He  is  here  in  person,  come  on  purpose 
with  us,"  said  Don  Abbondio ;  "  he  is  waiting 
for  us  out  of  the  room.  Let  us  make  haste ; 
don't  let  us  keep  him  waiting ;  a  man  of  his 
quality." 

He  of  whom  they  were  speaking,  now  push- 
ed open  the  door,  showed  himself,  and  carne 
forward.  Lucia,  who  but  a  short  time  before 
was  wishing  to  see  him,  nay,  placing  her 
hope  upon  no  other  person  in  the  world,  de- 
sirous to  see  him  of  all  others,  having  now 
seen  others,  and  heard  friendly  voices,  could 
not  restrain  herself  from  trembling.  He,  at 
the  first  glimpse  of  that  countenance  on  which, 
the  preceding  evening,  he  had  not  had  the  cou- 
rage steadily  to  look,  and  which  now  was  pale, 
disheartened,  and  full  of  distress,  by  long  suf- 
fering and  abstinence,  stopped  short  at  the  im- 
pulse of  terror  which  she  betrayed,  he  cast 
down  his  eyes,  and  remained  an  instant  immo- 
vable and  mute,  and  involuntarily  giving  an 
answer  to  what  the  poor  creature  haa  not  said, 
he  exclaimed,  "  It  is  true  ;  pardon  me  !" 

"  He  is  come  to  set  you  free ;  he  is  no  longer 
the  same  man,  he  is  become  good.  Do  you 
not  hear  that  he  asks  you  to  pardon  him  ?"  said 
the  good  woman,  in  Lucia's  ear. 

"What  more  can  be  said  ?  come,  hold  up 
your  head ;  don't  act  like  a  baby ;  let  us  be  off 
as  soon  as  we  can,"  said  Don  Abbondio  to  her. 
Lucia  raised  her  head,  looked  at  the  Un-named, 
and  observing  his  face  directed  to  the  ground, 
and  his  countenance  full  of  confusion,  was 
seized  with  a  mingled  feeling  of  comfort,  gra- 
titude, and  compassion.  "  Oh,  sir !"  she  said, 
"may  God  return  this  mercy  to  you  !" 

"  And  may  he  reward  you  a  thousand  fold 
for  the  consolation  your  words  impart  to  me." 

He  turned  now  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and 
went  out  first.  Lucia,  quite  revived,  followed 
him,  leaning  on  the  woman's  arm,  and  Don 
Abbondio  came  last.  They  descended  the 
staircase,  and  reached  again  the  small  door  at 
the  court-yard.  The  Un-named  opened  it, 
went  to  the  litter,  opened  the  door,  and  with  a 


gentleness  that  partook  of  timidity,  (two  new 
inclinations  in  him,)  lifting  Lucia  by  the  arm, 
assisted  her  to  get  into  it,  and  then  her  com- 
panion. He  then  took  the  bridles  of  the  two 
mules  from  the  driver,  and  assisted  Don  Ab- 
bondio to  mount. 

"What  great  condescension!"  exclaimed 
the  curate,  and  got  on  the  mule's  back  in  a 
much  more  active  manner  than  he  had  done 
before.  As  soon  as  the  Un-named  was  seated, 
they  proceeded  on.  His  front  was  now  raised 
aloft,  and  his  countenance  had  reassumed  its 
accustomed  expression  of  command.  The  ruf- 
fians whom  they  met  on  the  road,  perceived 
clearly  in  his  features  the  evidence  of  some 
great  thought,  of -an  extraordinary  solicitude, 
but  they  could  not  comprehend,  and  were  una- 
ble to  penetrate  any  farther.  Nothing  was  yet 
known  of  the  great  change  that  had  been  ope- 
rated in  him,  and  it  is  most  certain  that  not 
one  of  them  would  have  conjectured  it.  The 
good  woman  had  drawn  the  curtains  of  the  lit- 
tle windows  of  the  litter,  and  taking  Lucia's 
hand  in  an  affectionate  manner,  began  to  com- 
fort her  with  words  of  compassion,  congratula- 
tion, and  tenderness.  And  perceiving,  as  well 
on  account  of  the  weariness  she  experienced 
from  her  sufferings,  as  from  the  confusion  and 
strangeness  of  passing  events,  that  the  poor 
girl  could  not  properly  estimate  the  joy  of  her 
deliverance,  she  said  every  thing  to  her  to  im- 
press it  in  a  more  lively  manner  upon  her 
mind,  in  order  to  disentangle  and  clear  up  her 
confused  thoughts.  She  told  her  the  name  of 
the  place  they  were  at,  and  of  the  village  they 
were  going  to. 

"Indeed,"  said  Lucia,  who  knew  it  was  but 
a  short  distance  from  her  native  place,  "  Oh, 
most  holy  Madonna  Virgin,  I  thank  thee !  my 
mother !  my  mother ! " 

"  We  will  send  immediately  for  her,"  said 
the  good  woman,  who  was  not  aware  this  had 
already  been  done. 

"  Yes,  yes,  God  will  reward  you  for  it — and 
you,  who  are  you  ?  how  did  you  come —  ?" 

"Our  curate  sent  me,"  replied  she;  "for 
God  has  touched  the  heart  of  the  owner  of  the 
castle,  (blessed  be  God!)  and  he  came  to  our 
village  to  speak  to  the  cardinal  archbishop, 
who  is  on  a  visit  there  now,  that  dear  man  of 
God ;  and  he  has  repented  him  of  all  his  sins, 
and  wishes  to  change  his  life.  He  told  the 
cardinal  that  he  had  caused  a  young  innocent 
girl  to  be  carried  off — that  was  you — in  con- 
cert with  another  person  who  had  not  the  fear 
of  God  on  him,  but  the  curate  did  not  tell  me 
who  it  was." 

Lucia  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

"  Perhaps  you  know,"  continued  the  good 
woman.  "Well,  the  cardinal  then  thought, 
that  a  voung  girl  being  in  the  case,  it  was  best 
to  send  a  female  to  keep  her  company,  and  he 
lold  the  curate  to  find  one ;  so  the  curate  came 
to  see  me,  and  through  his  goodness — " 

"  May  the  Lord  recompense  you  for  your 
charity." 

"  Only  think  of  all  this,  my  poor  young  girl ! 


1  PROMESS1  SPOSI. 


151 


And  the  curate  told  me  I  must  try  to  keep  up 
your  spirits,  and  encourage  you,  and  make  you 
understand  how  the  Lord  has  miraculously 
saved  you " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  miraculously,  indeed,  through 
the  intercession  of  the  virgin." 

"  Be,  then,  of  good  courage,  and  pardon 
him  who  did  this  wrong  to  you  ;  be  thankful 
for  the  mercy  God  has  shown  to  him,  and  pray 
for  him.  You  will  not  only  do  what  is  pleasing 
to  God,  but  you  will  open  your  own  heart  by  it" 

Lucia  answered  by  a  look  which  expressed 
her  assent  as  clearly  as  words  could  have  done, 
and  with  a  sweetness  that  words  could  not 
have  communicated. 

'•'That's  an  excellent  girt!"  continued  the 
woman,  "  and  your  curate  also  being  at  our 
village,  (there  are  so  many  of  them,  trom  all 
the  neighborhood  round,  enough  to  make  four 
general  assemblies,)  his  excellency,  the  cardi- 
nal, thought  of  sending  him  too,  in  company, 
although  ne  has  been  of  very  little  service.  I 
had  heard  he  was  but  a  poor  sort  of  creature, 
but  I  could'nt  help  seeing  upon  this  occasion, 
that  he  was  as  helpless  as  a  new  hatched 
chicken  in  a  basket  of  tow." 

"  And  he "  asked  Lucia,  "  he  who  is 

become  good — who  is  he  ?" 

"How?  don't  you  know?"  said  the  good 
woman,  and  named  him. 

"Oh,  merciful  Lord!"  exclaimed  Lucia. 
That  name,  how  often  had  she  heard  it  re- 
peated with  horror  in  some  story,  where  it 
stood  in  the  place  that  the  hobgoblin  occupies 
in  other  stories !  And  now,  to  think  only  that 
she  had  been  in  the  power  of  such  a  terrible 
man,  under  his  pious  care ;  the  thought  even  of 
such  a  dark  danger,  and  of  such  an  unforeseen 
redemption,  to  think  only  who  that  face  be- 
longed to  that  seemed  to  her  so  terrible,  it 
moved,  and  humbled  her  so  much  in  he/  heart, 
that  she  was  in  a  sort  of  ecstatic  transport, 
and  kept  exclaiming  every  now  and  then,  "  Oh, 
mercy !" 

"It  is  a  great  mercy  to  be  sure  !"  said  the 
good  woman.  It  will  be  a  great  blessing  for 
half  the  people,  all  round  here.  Only  think 
how  many  people  were  in  such  a  dread  of  him  ! 
And  now,  as  our  curate  has  told  me — and  then 
just  to  look  in  his  face,  you  see  he  is  become 
quite  a  saint ;  how  soon  these  works  of  grace 

To  say  that  this  good  woman  did  not  feel  a 
good  deal  of  curiosity  to  know  a  little  more 
distinctly  something  about  the  great  adventure 
in  which  she  found  nerself  taking  a  part,  would 
not  be  the  truth.  But  we  must  say  to  her  cre- 
dit, that  restrained  by  a  respectful  compas- 
sion for  Lucia,  and  feeling  to  a  certain  extent 
the  gravity  and  dignity  of  the  charge  with 
which  she  had  been  entrusted,  she  did  hot  even 
think  of  putting  an  indiscreet  or  idle  question 
to  her :  every  thing  that  she  said  during  the 
ride,  was  intended  to  comfort  and  encourage 
the  poor  girl. 

"  God  knows  how  long  it  is  since  you  have 
eaten  anything!" 


"  I  really  don't  remember  when — it  is  some 
time." 

"  Poor  thing !  Do  you  feel  the  want  of  some- 
thing now  ?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Lucia,  with  a  faint  voice. 

"  When  we  get  to  my  house,  thanks  be  to 
God,  we  shall  find  something  directly.  Cheer 
up,  we  are  not  far  off." 

Lucia  fell  languidly  back  in  the  litter  as  if 
she  was  drowsy,  and  the  good  woman  let  her 
repose. 

For  Don  Abbondio,  certainly,  this  return 
was  not  as  distressing  as  the  previous  ride,  but 
neither  was  it  by  any  means  a  journey  of  plea- 
sure. As  soon  as  his  great  fright  had  left 
him,  he  began  to  feel  quite  light;  but  other 
uneasinesses  soon  began  to  annoy  him,  as 
when  a  huge  tree  has  been  blown  np  by  the 
roots,  the  ground  remains  naked  for  some  time, 
until  other  plants  grow  up.  He  had  become 
more  sensitive  about  what  was  to  come,  and  in 
his  thoughts  both  of  the  present  and  the  future, 
he  found  plenty  of  matter  to  torment  himself 
with.  He  experienced  now,  much  more  than 
in  going,  the  inconvenience  of  that  manner  of 
traveling,  to  which  he  was  very  little  accus- 
tomed, especially  in  the  descent  from  the  cas- 
tle to  the  bottom  of  the  valley.  The  driver, 
in  obedience  to  a  sign  from  the  Un-natned, 
kept  his  beasts  at  a  good  pace,  and  the  mules 
kept  behind  in  single  file  at  the  same  rate,  so 
that  it  happened  at  certain  steep  places,  poor 
Don  Abbondio,  as  if  a  lever  had  been  put  un- 
der him,  was  thrown  upon  the  mule's  neck, 
and  in  order  to  keep  his  seat,  was  obliged  to 
catch  hold  of  the  saddle  ;  still  he  did  not  dare 
to  request  them  to  go  slower,  and  in  fact  was 
wanting  to  get  out  of  the  neighborhood  in  the 
shortest  time  possible.  Besides,  when  the 
path  went  on  one  of  those  elevated  ridges, 
near  a  ravine,  the  mule,  like  all  his  race, 
seemed,  out  of  spite,  always  to  keep  on  the 
dangerous  side,  and  to  have  a  pleasure  in  walk- 
ing on  the  very  margin  of  the  precipice,  so 
that  Don  Abbondio  had  a  succession  of  per- 
pendicular peeps  below  him,  every  one  of 
which  had  a  fatal  appearance.  Thou,  too,  he 
said  in  his  heart  to  the  beast,  thou  hast  that 
cursed  inclination  to  choose  the  most  danger- 
ous path,  when  there  are  so  many  safe  ones  ! 
And  then  he  drew  the  bridle  on  one  side,  but 
it  was  all  in  vain.  So  that,  according  to  cus- 
tom, worrying  himself  with  anger,  and  with 
fear,  he  suffered  himself  to  be  led  at  the  plea- 
sure of  another.  The  bandits  now  did  not 
alarm  him  as  much  as  they  did  before,  as  he 
was  more  satisfied  about  the  intentions  of  their 
master.  But — he  reflected — if  the  news  of 
this  great  conversion  should  get  spread  whilst 
we  are  still  here,  who  knows  how  these  fel- 
lows will  receive  it !  Who  knows  what  may 
grow  out  of  it !  They  might  take  it  into  their 
heads  that  I  was  come  here  to  play  the  part  of 
a  missionary  !  Heaven  forbid  such  a  thought ! 
They  would  make  a  martyr  of  me !  The  stern- 
ness of  the  Un-nained  did  not  annoy  him  any 
more  now.  To  keep  those  horrid  looking 


152 


THE  METROPOLITAN* 


physiognomies  in  order,  thought  lie,  will  take 
nothing  less  than  my  friends  here  besides  me. 
I  know  that,  to  be  sure ;  but  what  have  I 
done  that  I  must  be  here  amongst  such  a  set 
of  ruffians  ? 

Having  descended  the  hill,  they  at  length 
got  out  of  the  valley.  The  front  of  the  Un- 
named became  more  clear ;  Don  Abbondio,  too, 
began  to  look  more  natural ;  he  drew  out  his 
head  that  had  got  imprisoned  betwixt  his 
shoulders,  stretched  out  his  arms  and  limbs, 
erected  himself  somewhat  more,  and  became 
quite  a  difierent  man  ;  he  breathed  more  freely, 
and  now,  with  his  mind  a  little  quieted,  began 
to  think  upon  more  remote  dangers.  What 
will  that  devil,  Don  Rodrigo,  say  ?  Will  he  be 
content  to  have  his  nose  put  out  of  joint  in 
this  way  ?  Will  he  put  up  with  all  this,  and 
with  the  jokes  that  will  come  after  ?  I  warrant 
you  this  will  be  a  bitter  pill  to  swallow.  Now 
will  be  a  fit  occasion  for  him  to  play  the  devil 
in  reality.  We  shall  see  whether  he  has  a 
grudge  against  me  or  not,  lor  having  been 
obliged  to  take  a  part  in  this  ceremony.  A 
man  that  could  find  it  in  his  heart  to  send  a 
brace  of  his  devils  to  make  me  cut  such  a 
figure  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  now,  Heaven 
Knows  what  he  may  take  it  into  his  head  to  do. 
With  his  most  .illustrious  excellency,  Monsig- 
nor,  he  will  hardly  think  of  being  revenged, 
he  is  too  great  a  concern  to  be  managed,  he 
will  have  to  bite  the  bridle  there.  But  the 
poison  will  be  working  in  him,  and  somebody 
will  have  to  pay  for  it  all.  What  is  the  end  of 
all  such  affairs  ?  Why,  the  blows  always  come 
down,  and  the  rags  fly  about  in  the  air.  Lucia, 
his  most  illustrious  excellency  will,  no  doubt, 
put  in  some  safe  place  ;  that  other  poor  devil, 
Kenzo,  that  got  into  such  a  scrape,  has  now 
got  out  of  it ;  he  has  had  his  share  of  the  mat- 
ter, and  here  I  am,  the  only  rag  left.  What  a 
barbarous  thing  it  would  be,  if  after  so  much 
trouble,  and  so  much  agitation,  and  without 
getting  any  credit  by  it,  I  should  be  obliged  to 
bear  all  the  consequences.  What  will  his  ex- 
cellency, Monsignor,  do  to  defend  me,  after 
thrusting  me  into  the  matter  in  this  way  ?  Will 
he  prevent  that  hang  gallows  serving  me  an- 
other trick  worse  than  the  first  ?  He  has  so 
many  things  in  his  head  !  He  takes  hold  of  so 
many  things  !  How  can  a  man  attend  to  every 
thing  at  once  ?  The  fact  is,  they  often  leave 
things  in  a  worse  state  than  they  find  them ! 
Those  that  go  about  doing  good,  they  do  it  in 
the  gross,  and  when  they  think  they  have  done 
it,  they  are  content,  and  never  trouble  them- 
selves with  thinking  about  what  is  to  come 
after.  And  those  that  have  a  taste  for  going 
about  to  do  evil,  are  more  diligent ;  they  attend 
to  every  thing  till  there  is  an  end  to  the  whole 
matter ;  they  never  can  rest,  because  the  can- 
ker is  always  gnawing  at  them.  Must  I  go 
and  tell  that  scape  grace  that  I  came  here  by 
the  express  command  of  his  most  illustrious  ex- 
cellency, and  not  of  my  own  accord  ?  Does  not 
tin's  look  like  taking  sides  with  iniquity  ?  Oh, 
merciful  heaven  !  I  ?  take  sides  wita  iniquity  ! 


I.  that  it  is  driving  about  the  world  at  this  rate  ! 
No,  no,  it  will  be  better  to  tell  Perpetua  ex- 
actly how  the  matter  is,  and  let  her  consider 
what  is  to  be  done.  And  how,  if  Monsignor 
should  take  it  into  his  head  to  make  some 
great  to  do  about  this  affair,  make  it  uselessly 
public,  and  lug  my  name  right  into  it.  I  must 
look  to  this,  and  if,  when  we  arrive,  he  has  left 
the  church,  I'll  go  and  make  my  bow  as  quiet 
as  I  can,  and  if  not,  I'll  leave'iny  apologies, 
and  get  home  as  quick  as  I  can.  Lucia  wants 
no  assistance,  there  is  no  need  of  my  presence, 
and  after  so  much  fatigue  I  may  well  pretend 
to  go  and  get  some  repose  myself.  And  then — 
Monsignor  might  take  it  into  his  head  to  know 
the  whole  story,  and  it  might  fall  to  my  share 
io  tell  the  whole  story  of  the  marriage.  That 
would  cap  the  concern.  And  if  he  should 
pay  a  visit  to  my  parish  ? — Oh,  Ifet  what  will 
happen,  I'll  not  "be  looking  a  head  for  sorrow, 
I  have  enough  on  my  own  hands  now.  I'll 

Sand  shut  myself  up  in  my  house.  Whilst 
onsignor  is  in  these  parts,  Don  Rodrigo  won't 
have  the  face  to  do  any  mad  thing — and  after- 
wards— oh !  oh  !  I  see  I  shall  nave  trouble 
enough  in  my  latter  days. 

The  party  arrived  before  the  functions  of 
the  church  were  over,  and  passed  again  through 
the  crowd,  which  was  not  less  excited  than 
before.  It  then  divided.  The  two  cavaliers 
turned  into  a  small  square  on  one  side,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  was  the  parsonage,  and  the 
litter  went  towards  the  dwelling  of  the  good 
woman. 

Don  Abbondio  kept  his  word ;  scarce  had 
he  dismounted  when  he  paid  the  most  extrava- 
gant compliments  to  the  Un-  named,  and  in- 
treated  him  to  apologise  to  Monsignor,  anil 
state  that  urgent  affairs  required  his  return 
home.  He  then  went  to  look  after  what  he 
called  his  horse,  which  was  his  stick,  that  he 
had  left  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  took  his 
departure.  The  Un-named  remained  waiting 
until  the  cardinal  should  return  from  church. 

The  good  woman,  having  placed  Lucia  in 
the  best  seat,  in  the  best  place  of  the  kitchen, 
was  busied  in  preparing  her  some  refreshment, 
refusing,  with  a  rustic  and  cordial  kindness, 
her  reiterated  thanks  and  excuses. 

She  quickly  placed  some  dry  branches  be- 
neath a  pot  which  she  had  hung  over  the  fire, 
and  where  a  fine  capon  was  swimming ;  she 
soon  made  it  boil,  and  filling  a  porringer  con- 
taining some  pieces  of  bread,  with  the  broth, 
presented  it  to  Lucia.  When  she  saw  the 
poor  girl  taking  comfort  at  every  spoonful,  she 
congratulated  herself  cordially  that  this  had  not 
happened  on  a  day  when  the  cat  was  not  on 
the  hearth.  "  All  are  doing  their  best  today," 
she  said,  "  to  spread  a  table,  except  tliose  poor 
creatures  who  nave  enough  to  do  to  get  a  little 
bread  made  of  beans,  and  a  little  buckwheat 
pudding;  but  today  they  are  all  hoping  to 
have  something  from  such  a  charitable  person- 
age. Thanks  oe  to  God,  we  are  in  this  case  :, 
we  get  along  with  my  husband's  trade,  and  ;i 
little  we  have  of  last  year ;  so,  in  the  mean- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


168 


time,  eat  with  a  good  heart,  the  capon  soon 
will  be  ready,  and  then  you  shall  have  some- 
thing more  substantial.'"'  Taking  the  little 
porringer  up,  she  busied  hersell  in  getting 
things  ready  for  the  family  dinner. 

Lucia,  somewhat  reinvigorated,  and  in  much 
better  spirits,  began  to  put  her  dress  in  order, 
an  instinctive  habit  with  her  of  cleanliness  and 
propriety.  She  arranged  and  reknotted  her 
tresses  upon  her  head,  which  had  been  loose, 
and  in  disorder ;  she  arranged  her  handkerchief 
on  her  bosom,  and  around  her  neck.  Whilst 
doing  this,  her  fingers  came  in  contact  with  her 
rosary,  which  she  had  hung  round  it,  she  gave 
a  glance  at  it,  and  an  instantaneous  tumult 
arose  in  her  mind.  The  remembrance  of  her 
vowj  till  then  kept  down  by  so  many  agitating 
sensations,  suddenly  arose,  clearly  and  distinct- 
ly beibre  her.  All  the  powers  of  her  mind, 
scarce  recalled  into  action,  were  again  at  once 
overpowered ;  and  if  her  mind  had  not  been 
prepared  by  a  life  of  innocence,  of  resignation, 
and  of  faith,  the  consternation  she  experienced 
at  that  instant,  would  have  produced  despair 
in  her.  After  the  tumult  of  such  thoughts  as 
words  cannot  give  utterance  to,  the  first  which 
presented  themselves  to  her  mind  were — "  Oh, 
poor  me,  what  is  it  I  have  done !" 

Scarce  had  she  thought  the  words,  when  she 
felt  a  dread  within  her.  All  the  circumstances 
attending  her  vow  came  to  her  mind  ;  her  into- 
lerable anguish,  her  despair  of  all  human  suc- 
cor, the  fervor  of  her  prayer,  the  fulness  of  the 
feeling  with  which  the  vow  had  beenmade,and, 
having  obtained  grace  now,to  repent  of  her  pro- 
mise, appeared  to  her  a  sacrilegeous  ingrati- 
tude, a  perfidy  towards  God  and  the  Virgin ;  it 
seemed  to  her  as  if  such  a  faithlessness  would 
bring  down  upon  her  new  and  terrible  misfor- 
tunes, amidst  which  she  would  not  be  able  to 
hope,  not  even  in  her  prayers ;  she  hastened, 
therefore,  to  renounce  that  momentary  reluc- 
tance to  her  vow.  Taking  her  rosary  reve- 
rently from  her  neck,  and  holding  it  in  her 
trembling  hand,  she  confirmed  and  renewed 
her  vow,  asking,  at  the  same  time  with  earnest 
supplication,  that  strength  might  be  granted  to 
her  to  keep  it,  and  that  she  might  be  spared 
those  recollections,  and  those  occasions,  which, 
if  they  did  not  move  her  mind,  might  at  least 
distract  it.  The  absence  of  Renzo,  without 
any  probability  of  his  return,  that  absence 
which  hitherto  she  had  esteemed  such  a  bitter 
misfortune,  seemed  to  her  a  dispensation  of 
Providence,  who  had  ordered  the  two  events  to 
concur  to  one  end ;  she  endeavored,  therefore, 
to  find  consolation  in  one  of  them  against  the 
other.  Besides,  she  imagined  to  herself  that 
the  same  Providence  to  complete  his  work, 
would  find  means  to  console  Renzo,  to  make' 
him  forget — But  scarce  had  she  permitted 
such  a  thought  to  take  a  place  in  her  mind, 
when  it  became  all  tumult  again.  The  poor 
girl,  feeling  that  her  heart  was  again  going  to 
betray  her,  began  again  to  pray,  again  to  con- 
firm herself,  again  to  struggle,  and  rose  from 
the  conflict,  if  the  expression  can  be  permitted, 
20 


as  an  exhausted  and  wounded  conqueror  does 
from  the  enemy  he  has  subdued. 

In  the  meantime  the  trampling  of  feet,  and 
a  joyous  sort  of  cry,  were  heard.  It  was  the 
younger  part  of  fr'ie  family,  returned  from 
church.  Two  little  girls  and  a  boy  came 
jumping  into  the  room :  their  curious  eyes 
were  turned  upon  Lucia,  and  then  they  rushed 
to  their  mother,  and  got  round  her.  One  asks 
who  the  unknown  guest  is,  how  did  she  come 
there,  what  did  she  come  there  for  ?  Another 
begins  telling  her  mother  all  the  wonders  she 
had  seen  ;  to  all  and  to  every  thing  they  said, 
the  good  woman  answered,  "Be  quiet,  be 
quiet."  Then,  at  a  more  moderate  pace,  but 
with  a  cordial  sort  of  eagerness  beaming  from 
his  countenance,  the  father  of  the  family  makes 
his  appearance.  He  was,  if  we  have  not  al- 
ready stated  it,  the  tailor  of  the  village,  and  of 
a  great  part  of  the  surrounding  country :  a  man 
who  knew  how  to  read,  and  in  fact  who  had 
more  than  once  read  the  Legendary  of  Saints, 
and  the  Royal  Knights  of  France,  and  who 
passed  amongst  his  neighbors  for  a  man  of 
talents  and  science ;  praises,  however,  that  he 
modestly  declined,  only  saying  that  he  had 
missed  his  vocation,  and  that  if  he  had  attended 
to  study  and  learning  instead  of  many  others — ! 
with  all  this,  the  best  creature  in  the  world. 
Having  been  present  when  the  curate  propo- 
sed to  his  wife  to  undertake  that  work  of  cha- 
rity, he  had  not  only  given  his  approbation, 
but  would  have  had  added  some  persuasion,  if 
it  had  been  necessary.  And  now  that  the 
church  service,  the  pomp  of  the  rites,  the  con- 
course of  people,  and  above  all,  the  sermon  the 
cardinal  had  delivered,  had  exalted  his  kinder 
feelings,  he  had  returned  to  his  house  with  an 
anxious  desire  to  know  how  the  affair  had 
succeeded,  and  whether  the  poor  girl  had  been 
saved. 

"  See  there,"  said  the  good  woman  to  him 
on  his  entrance,  pointing  to  Lucia,  who  blush- 
ing, arose,  and  began  to  stammer  out  an  ex- 
cuse ;  but  going  to  her,  with  a  welcome  and 
gay  manner,  he  exclaimed,  "  Welcome !  wel- 
come !  You  are  the  blessing  of  God  upon 
this  house.  How  happy  I  am  to  see  you 
here  !  You  was  sure  to  come  to  good  port, 
for  I  never  knew  the  Lord  begin  a  miracle 
without  ending  it  well ;  but  I  am  happy  to 
see  you.  Poor  girl !  But  it  is  a  great  thing 
to  have  had  a  miracle  performed  on  one  !" 

Nor  was  he  the  only  one  who  had  given 
that  designation  to  the  occurrence,  because  he 
had  read  the  legendary  :  throughout  the  coun- 
try and  all  around,  it  was  spoken  of  in  no 
other  terms,  as  long  as  the  memory  of  it  en- 
dured, and  to  tell  the  truth,  with  the  accesso- 
ries that  got  connected  with  it  afterwards,  it 
was  a  designation  that  might  well  be  given 
to  it. 

Drawing  near  to  his  wife,  who  was  taking 
the  pot  from  the  hooks  over  the  fire,  he  saia 
softly  to  her,  "Has  every  thing  gone  very 
well  ? " 

"  Capitally:  I  will  tell  thee  afterwards." 


154 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


"  Ay,  ay,  when  it  is  convenient." 
The  table  being  ready,  the  mistress  of  the 
house  now  led  Lucia  to  it,  and  made  her  sil 
down,  and  having  separated  a  wing  from  the 
fowl,  placed  it  before  her ;  then  seating  her- 
self and  her  husband,  both  of  them  exhorted 
their  modest  and  abashed  guest  to  take  cour- 
age and  eat.  The  tailor  began  at  the  first 
mouthful  to  talk  with  great  emphasis,  notwith- 
standing the  interruptions  he  met  with  from 
the  children,  who  ate  their  dinners  standing 
round  the  table,  and  who,  it  must  be  confessed, 
had  seen  too  many  extraordinary  things  to 
play  the  part  of  listeners  all  the  time.  Hav- 
ing described  the  solemn  ceremonies,  he  pro- 
ceeded to  talk  of  the  miraculous  conversion. 
But  what  had  made  the  greatest  impression 
upon  him,  and  to  which  he  most  frequently 
reverted,  was  the  sermon  of  the  cardinal. 

"To  see  him  there,  before  the  altar,"  said 
he,  "a  man  of  his  quality,  just  like  a  curate. — " 
"  And  that  gold  thing  he  had  on  his  head — " 
said  a  little  gin. 

"  Hold  your  tongue.  To  think,  I  say,  that 
a  man  of  his  quality,  and  such  a  learned  man, 
who,  as  they  say,  has  read  every  book  there 
is,  a  thing  that  no  other  man  ever  did,  not 
even  in  Milan ;  to  think  that  he  should  know 
how  to  adapt  himself  to  talk  about  such 
things,  so  that  every  body  should  understand 
him." 

"  I  knew  what  it  was,"  said  the  other  little 
chatterbox. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  there  :  what  didst  thou 
know,  I  should  like  to  hear  ?" 

"  I  knew  he  was  preaching  instead  of  the 
curate." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  I  say.  I  am  not  talk- 
ing of  those  who  know  something,  such  as 
they  are  obliged  to  understand ;  but  the  dull- 
est, and  the  most  ignorant  felt  the  force  of 
what  he  was  saying.  To  be  sure  you  may  go 
and  ask  them  to  repeat  his  words,  and  they 
would  not  be  able  to  remember  a  syllable,  but 
the  feelings,  they  have  it  all  here.  And  then, 
without  mentioning  the  ijame  of  that  person- 
age, how  well  they  comprehended  that  it  was 
him  he  was  talking  of;  and  then  to  understand 
him,  it  was  quite  enough  just  to  look  at  him 
when  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes — all  the 
people  in  the  church  began  to  cry." 

"  So  they  did  father,"  said  the  little  girl, 
"but  what  were  they  all  crying  for  just  like 

i   •*   i  ...  *  •*         O  ** 

children  i 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  I  say.  Ay,  yes !  there's 
some  hard  hearts  in  this  country.  And  then 
he  proved  clearly,  that  although  there  is  a 
dearth,  it  is  our  duty  to  be  thankful  to  the 
Lord,  and  to  be  content ;  do  all  that  we  can, 
be  industrious,  help  ourselves,  and  then  be 
content ;  because  it  is  no  disgrace  to  suffer, 
and  to  be  poor,  its  only  a  disgrace  to  commit 
evil.  Artd  these  are  not  mere  words,  every 
body  knows  that  he  lives  just  as  if  he  was 
a  poor  man,  and  takes  the  bread  out  of  his 
own  mouth  to  give  it  to  the  distressed,  al- 
though he  might  enjoy  all  the  good  things  of 


this  world  better  than  any  body  else.  It's  then 
a  man  gives  real  satisfaction  to  hear  him  talk, 
not  like  so  many  others,  with  their  "  do  what 
I  tell  you,  and  not  what  I  do" — and  then  he 
proved  that  even  those  who  are  not  amongst 
the  very  greatest  of  all,  if  they  have  more 
than  they  have  occasion  for,  are  bound  to 
relieve  those  who  are  in  want." 

Here  he  stopped,  as  if  he  was  overcome  by 
a  thought.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
made  up  a  plate  of  the  victuals  upon  the  table, 
added  a  loaf  to  it,  put  the  plate  in  a  towel, 
and  taking  it  by  the  four  corners,  said  to  the 
oldest  girl,  "  Take  this  here ;"  then  putting 
into  her  other  hand  a  flask  of  wine,  he  added, 
"  go  to  the  widow  Maria,  leave  these  things 
there,  and  tell  her  it  is  to  make  merry  with 
her  little  ones.  But  mind  and  do  it  handsome- 
ly, and  not  as  if  you  was  bestowing  charity 
on  her.  And  say  nothing  if  you  meet  any 
body,  and  mind  you  don't  break  the  things." 

Lucia's  eyes  became  swollen,  she  felt  in 
heart  a  reviving  tenderness;  from  the  first 
this  conversation  had  relieved  her  more  than 
any  sermon  expressly  intended  for  consolation 
could  have  done.  Her  mind  attracted  by 
those  descriptions,  those  pictures  of  pomp 
those  movements  of  compassion  and  wonder, 
seized  with  the  enthusiasm  of  the  narrator, 
forgot  for  a  moment  the  painful  reflections 
about  herself,  and  still  returning  to  them, 
became  fortified  against  them.  The  thought 
even  of  the  great  sacrifice  she  had  made,  not 
that  thf  bitterness  of  it  had  passed  away,  was 
still  mingled  with  an  austere  and  solemn 

joy- 
In  a  short  time  the  curate  of  the  place  en- 
tered, and  said  that  he  had  been  sent  by  the 
cardinal  to  get  some  news  of  Lucia,  and  to 
inform  her  that  Monsignor  would  see  her  in 
the  course  of  the  day ;  ne  then  returned  many 
thanks  from  him  to  the  worthy  pair.  All 
these  moved  and  touched  them  in  the  liveliest 
manner,  they  could  not  find  words  to  express 
their  feelings  for  such  condescension  from  a 
personage  of  his  rank. 

'  And  your  mother,  she  is  not  arrived  yet  ?" 
said  the  curate  to  Lucia. 

"  My  mother !"  exclaimed  she.  And  hear- 
ng  that  he  had  sent  for  her  by  the  orders  and 
brethought  of  the  archbishop,  she  drew  her 
apron  to  her  eyes,  and  shed  a  flood  of  tears, 
which  continued  to  flow  for  some  time  alter 
Jie  departure  of  the  curate.  When  the  tu- 
multuous affections  which  that  announcement 
lad  awakened,  gave  place  to  more  composed 
Jioughts,  the  poor  girl  remembered,  that  the 
approaching  happiness  of  again  seeing  her 
mother,  a  happiness  so  unlocked  for  a  few 
lours  before,  she  had  expressly  implored  dur- 
ng  those  very  hours,  and  had  almost  made  a 
condition  of  her  vow.  Take  me  safe  back  to 
my  mother,  she  had  said ;  and  those  words  now 
listinctly  reappeared  in  her  memory.  She 
strengthened  herself  now  more  than  ever  in 
;he  determination  to  preserve  her  vow,  and 
Bitterly  reproved  herself  again  for  the  regret, 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


155 


and  the  sorrow  she  had  entertained  on  that  ac- 
count for  an  instant. 

Agnes,  whilst  they  were  talking  of  her,  was, 
in  fact,  but  a  short  distance  off.  It  may  be 
easily  supposed  in  what  state  of  mind  the  poor 
woman  was  at  receiving  such  an  unexpected 
invitation,  and  at  a  message  necessarily  so  in- 
distinct and  confused;  of  a  danger,  but  a 
dreadful  one,  that  was  now  over,  o?  a  gloomy 
care  which  the  messenger  neither  knew  how 
to  explain,  nor  could  give  the  details  of,  and 
for  which  she  had  no  sort  of  suggestion  in  her 
antecedent  ideas.  After  thrusting  her  hands 
into  her  hair,  and  often  exclaiming,  "Oh,  Lord  ! 
Oh,  holy  virgin  !"  After  putting  various  ques- 
tions to  the  man,  none  of  which  he  could  give 
answers  to,  she  hurriedly  got  into  the  wagon, 
continuing  to  make  the  same  vain  inquiries 
whilst  they  were  on  the  road.  At  a  particular 
part  of  the  road  they  met  Don  Abbondio,  who 
was  coming  on  step  by  step,  and  at  each  step 
planting  his  stick  before  him.  After  an  ex- 
clamation on  both  sides,  they  both  stopped,  and 
she  got  out  of  the  wagon,  when  they  drew 
apart  to  a  small  chestnut  grove  by  the  road 
side.  He  there  gave  her  information  of  every 
thing  he  knew  and  had  seen.  The  matter  was 
not  very  clear,  but  at  least  Agnes  became  as- 
sured that  Lucia  was  safe,  and  she  breathed 
again. 

He  then  wanted  to  enter  upon  another  sub- 
ject, and  to  give  her  long  instructions  how  she 
should  conduct  herself  with  the  archbishop, 
if,  as  it  was  probable,  he  should  desire  to  see 
her  and  her  daughter;  and  that  above  all 
things  she  must  not  mention  the  marriage — . 
But  Agnes  perceiving  that  he  had  nothing  but 
his  own  interest  in  view,  left  him  there,  with- 
out making  him  any  promise  at  all,  indeed 
without  making  up  her  mind  on  the  subject, 
for  she  had  other  things  to  think  of.  She 
therefore  pursued  her  journey. 

At  length  the  wagon  arrived,  and  stopped  at 
the  tailor's  house ;  Lucia  hastily  rose,  Agnes 
jumped  and  ran  in,  they  flew  into  each  other's 
arms.  The  good  woman,  who  alone  was  pre- 
sent, comforted  and  calmed  them,  and  con- 
gratulated them,  and  then,  always  discreet, 
left  them  together,  saying  she  was  going  to 
prepare  a  bed  for  them ; — that  she  had  the 
means  of  doing  it,  but  that  in  any  case,  both 
her  husband  and  herself,  would  rather  sleep  on 
the  floor,  than  that  they  should  seek  lodgings 
any  where  else  that  night. 

Their  first  embraces  and  tears  having  now 
somewhat  subsided,  Agnes  desired  to  know 
what  had  befallen  Lucia,  who  sorrowfully  re- 
lated her  story.  But,  as  the  reader  knows,  it 
was  a  story  which  no  one  was  perfectly  ac- 
quainted with,  and  to  Lucia  herself  there  were 
parts,  there  were  obscure  passages,  altogether 
inexplicable.  Especially  that  fatal  combina- 
tion of  circumstances,  of  the  terrible  carriage 
being  there  in  the  road,  exactly  at  the  mo- 
ment when  Lucia  was  passing  by,  upon  a  very 
extraordinary  occasion.  Both  the  mother  and 
daughter  were  lost  in  conjectures  about  this, 


without  ever  suspecting  the  truth,  or  approach 
ing  it  in  the  least  degree. 

As  to  the  principal  author  of  the  plot,  nei 
ther  of  them  could  do  less  than  suppose  it  to 
be  Don  Rodrigo. 

"  Ah  !  that  black  monster !  firebrand  of 
hell!"  exclaimed  Agnes,  "but  his  hour  will 
come.  God  will  reward  him  according  to  his 
works,  and  then  he  too  will  feel." 

"No,  no,  mother,  no!"  said  Lucia,  "Do 
not  wish  him  any  evil,  do  not  wish  it  to  any 
body !  If  you  only  knew  what  it  is  to  be  in 
suffering!  If  you  had  only  experienced  it! 
No,  no !  let  us  rather  pray  to  God  and  the  vir- 
gin for  him  ;  that  God  may  touch  his  heart,  as 
he  has  already  done  to  this  other  poor  gentle- 
man, who  was  once  worse  than  him,  and  who 
is  now  a  saint." 

_  The  dread  that  Lucia  experienced  in  recur- 
ring to  such  recent  and  cruel  remembrances 
made  her  stop  short  more  than  once ,  she  said 
she  had  not  resolution  enough  to  go  on,  and 
after  shedding  many  tears,  with  difficulty  was 
able  to  speak  again.  But  a  different  feeling 
made  her  hesitate  at  one  part  of  her  story,  that 
where  she  had  made  her  vow.  The  appre- 
hension that  her  mother  might  reprove  her  as 
imprudent  and  rash,  or  that,  as  she  had  done 
in  the  affair  of  the  marriage,  her  mother  might 
bring  forwards  some  liberal  rule  to  govern 
conscience  by,  and  might  endeavor  to  persuade 
her  to  be  influenced  by  it ;  or  that  the  poor 
woman  might  tell  it  in  confidence  to  some- 
body, if  only  for  advice,  and  thus  give  it 
publicity;  the  very  thought  of  this  made 
Xucia  ashamed ;  she  felt  a  present  intolerable 
shame,  an  inexplicable  repugnance  to  speak 
on  the  subject,  and  all  these  considerations  to- 
gether were  the  cause  that  she  preserved  si- 
lence on  that  important  matter,  proposing  in 
her  heart  first  to  consult  with  father  Christo- 
pher. But  what  were  her  feelings  when  mak- 
ing inquiries  respecting  him,  she  learnt  that  he 
was  no  longer  at  Pescarenico,  that  he  had  been 
sent  away  to  a  very  distant  country,  a  place 
that  had  a  certain  name. 

"  And  Renzo,"  said  Agnes. 

"He  is  in  safety,  is  he  not?"  said  Lucia 
hastily. 

"That  is  certain,  because  everybody  says 
so ;  every  body  is  agreed  that  he  is  gone  to 
the  Bergamasc  country,  the  precise  place  we 
don't  know,  and  up  to  this  time  he  has  sent  no 
account  of  himself;  perhaps  he  has  found  no 
means  of  doing  so." 

"Ah,  if  only  he  is  safe,  God  be  praised!" 
said  Lucia,  and  turned  the  conversation. 
They  were  now  interrupted  by  another  no- 
velty, the  appearance  of  the  cardinal  archbi- 
shop. 

He,  being  returned  from  church,  and  learn- 
ing through  the  Un-named  that  Lucia  had  been 
happily  conducted  there,  sat  down  to  dinner, 
with  the  Un-named  on  his  right,  amidst  a  table 
full  of  clergymen,  who  were  unable  to  satiate 
themselves  with  looking  on  that  aspect,  so 
softened  without  weakness,  so  humbled  with- 


156 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


out  abasement,  and  with  comparing  it  with 
the  idea  they  had  so  long  formed  of  the  physi- 
ognomy of  that  personage. 

When  dinner  was  over,  the  two  again  re- 
tired together,  and  after  a  conversation  which 
lasted  much  longer  than  the  first,  the  Un-nam- 
ed  returned  to  his  castle,  upon  the  same  mule 
which  he  had  rode  in  the  morning.  The  car- 
dinal then  calling  the  parish  curate,  told  him 
he  wished  to  be  conducted  to  the  house  where 
Lucia  was  staying. 

"  Oh !  Monsignor,"  the  curate  replied,  "  do 
not  think  of  it,  I  will  send  immediately  to  the 
young  girl  and  her  mother,  if  she  is  arrived,  to 
come  here ;  the  good  people  of  the  house  like- 
wise, if  Monsignor  wishes." 

"  I  wish  to  go  myself  to  see  them,"  Fede- 
rigo  answered. 

"  There  is  no  occasion  for  your  excellency 
to  incommode  yourself,  I  will  send  for  them 
directly,  it's  a  thing  done  in  a  moment,"  in- 
sisted the  officious  curate,  (a  good  sort  of  per- 
son nevertheless)  not  perceiving  that  the  car- 
dinal desired  by  that  visit  to  do  honor  to 
misfortune,  to  innocency,  to  hospitality,  and  to 
his  own  ministry  at  the  same  time.  Still  ex- 
pressing the  same  intention,  the  curate  bowed 
and  proceeded. 

As  soon  as  they  appeared  in  the  street,  every 
one  who  saw  them,  went  to  them,  and  in  a 
short  time  people  gathered  from  every  quarter, 
opening  a  long  line  for  them  to  pass,  and  fol- 
lowing them  in  a  dense  mass.  The  curate 
kept  saying,  "  Come,  come,  go  back,  keep  out 
of  tne  way,  indeed!  indeed!"  but  Federigo 
said  to  him  "  Let  them  alone,  let  them  alone," 
and  proceeded  on,  now  raising  his  hand  to  bless 
the  people,  now  lowering  it  to  caress  the  chil- 
dren that  were  near  him.  Thus  they  reached 
the  house  and  entered  it,  whilst  the  crowd  sur- 
rounded it  on  every  side.  In  this  same  crowd 
was  also  the  tailor,  who  had  kept  following  on 
with  the  rest,  with  his  eyes  and  his  mouth  wide 
open,  not  knowing  where  they  were  all  bound. 
But  when  he  so  unexpectedly  saw  it  stop  there, 
it  may  be  imagined  he  was  not  very  backward 
in  pushing  through,  and  in  calling  out,  "Let 
him  pass  through  that  has  a  right  to  pass," 
and  so  got  in.  .  i  '.% 

Agnes  an^d  Lucia  heard  an  increasing  tu- 
mult in  the  street,  and  whilst  they  were  think- 
ing what  it  could  be,  the  door  was  thrown 
open,  and  the  purpled  dignitary  with  the  cu- 
rate appeared. 

"  Is  that  her  ?"  said  the  cardinal ;  the  curate 
bowed  assent,  and  he  went  to  Lucia,  who 
stood  with  her  mother,  both  of  them  immova- 
ble and  mute  with  surprize  and  bashfulness. 
But  the  tone  of  his  voice,  his  looks,  his  de- 
portment, and  above  all  his  words,  soon  en- 
couraged them,  "  Poor  maiden,"  he  began, 
"  God  has  permitted  you  to  be  exposed  to  a 
great  trial,  out  he  has  also  clearly  shown  you, 
that  his  eye  was  kept  upon  you,  and  that  he 
had  not  forgotten  you.  He  has  brought  you 
into  safety,  and  has  made  you  the  instrument 
of  a  great  work,  to  show  his  great  mercy  to 


one  individual,  and  to  send  comfort  and  relief 
to  many  others." 

The  mistress  of  the  house  now  entered  the 
room,  she,  on  hearing  the  noise,  had  looked 
out  of  the  window  above,  and  perceiving  who 
was  coming  into  her  house,  ran  as  hard  as  she 
could  down  stairs,  as  soon  as  she  had  arranged 
her  dress  a  little ;  just  at  the  same  moment  the 
tailor  also  came  in.  Perceiving  that  the  con- 
versation had  commenced,  they  went  into  a 
corner  of  the  room  together,  where  they  re- 
mained in  the  most  respectful  manner.  The 
cardinal,  having  courteously  saluted  them,  con- 
tinued to  talk  with  the  women,  mingling  with 
his  consolations  some  little  inquiries,  if  he 
perceived  in  the  answers,  that  he  could  be  at  all 
serviceable  to  those  who  had  suffered  so  much. 

"  All  the  clergy  ought  to  be  like  your  excel- 
lency, and  take  the  part  of  the  poor  some- 
times, and  not  put  them  into  difficulties  to  get 
out  of  danger  themselves,"  said  Agnes,  em- 
boldened by  the  familiar  and  kind  manners  of 
Federigo,  and  vexed  at  the  thought  that  Don 
Abbondio,  after  having  always  sacrificed 
others,  should  pretend  to  prevent  their  telling 
their  minds,  and  complaining  to  one  who  was  so 
far  above  him,  when  by  so  rare  a  chance,  the 
opportunity  offered  itself. 

"  Say  whatever  you  think,"  said  the  car- 
dinal, "speak  freely." 

"  I  mean  to  say,  that  if  our  curate  had  done 
his  duty,  the  thing  would  not  have  happened 
as  it  did." 

The  cardinal  now  requesting  her  to  explain 
more  fully  what  she  meant,  she  began  to  find 
herself  in  no  small  difficulty  in  the  relation  of 
a  story,  where  she  had  played  a  part  she  did 
not  care  to  acknowledge,  especially  to  a  man 
like  him.  However,  she  found  out  a  way  of 
getting  round  it,  and  related  how  the  marriage 
was  agreed  on,  how  Don  Abbondio  refused  to 
celebrate  it ;  she  did  not  suppress  his  pretext 
about  his  superiors  that  he  had  alleged,  (ah, 
Agnes ! )  and  then  went  on  to  relate  the  at- 
tempt of  Roderigo,  and  how  being  warned  of 
it,  they  had  succeeded  in  escaping.  "  But," 
she  concluded,  "  it  was  escaping  into  a  new 
difficulty.  If,  instead  of  acting  as  he  did,  the 
curate  had  honestly  told  us  how  the  affair 
was,  and  had  immediately  married  my  two 
young  people,  we  should  all  have  gone  away 
together,  secretly,  and  afar  off,  where  nobody 
wrould  have  known  any  thing  of  it.  Thus 
time  has  been  lost,  and  things  nave  happened 
just  as  they  have." 

"  The  Signor  curate  will  render  an  account 
to  me  of  this  act,"  said  the  cardinal. 

"  No,  sir,  no,  sir,"  replied  Agnes,  "  it  was 
not  for  this  I  told  you,  don't  scold  him,  it  will 
help  nothing,  for  what  is  done  is  done  :  it's  the 
nature  of  the  man,  and  if  the  case  was  to  hap- 
pen again  he  would  do  just  the  same  thing." 

But  Lucia,  discontented  with  that  manner 
of  telling  the  story,  added,  "we  have  done 
wrong  likewise,  and  it  is  plain  that  it  was  not 
the  pleasure  of  the  Lord  that  the  thing  should 
succeed." 


•  * 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


157 


"  What  wrong  can  you  have  done,  poor  girl?" 
asked  Federigo. 

Lucia,  in  despite  of  the  side  looks  her  mo- 
ther gave  her,  told  the  whole  story  of  the  at- 
tempt they  had  made  at  the  house  of  Don  Ab- 
bondio,  and  concluded,  saying, "  We  have  done 
wrong,  and  God  has  chastised  us." 

"  Receive  at  his  hands  the  sufferings  you  have 
experienced,  and  take  courage,  said  Federigo, 
"  for  who  can  be  filled  with  hope  and  cheer- 
fulness, if  not  they  who  suffer,  and  yet  accuse 
themselves  ?" 

He  then  asked  where  her  affianced  spouse 
was,  and  hearing  from  Agnes  (Lucia  was  si- 
lent, hanging  down  her  head,  and  her  eyes  on 
the  ground,)  that  he  had  left  the  country,  both 
felt  and  witnessed  some  surprise  and  displea- 
sure, and  asked  why  he  was  gone.  Agnes 
stammered  out  what  little  she  knew  of  the 
adventures  of  Renzo. 

"  I  have  heard  that  man  spoken  of,"  said  the 
cardinal,  **  but  how  could  a  man,  involved  in 
affairs  of  that  kind,  be  engaged  to  be  married 
to  this  young  maiden?" 

"  He  was  a  worthy  young  man,"  said  Lucia, 
blushing,  but  with  a  firm  voice. 

"  He  was  a  young  man  even  too  quiet," 
added  Agnes,  "  and  this  every  one  knows, 
even  the  curate  himself.  Who  knows  what 
stories  they  may  have  trumped  up  down  there 
with  their  cabals  ?  It  does  not  take  much  to 
make  a  poor  man  pass  for  a  rogue." 

"  It  is  too  true,"  said  the  cardinal,  I  will 
inform  myself  respecting  him  beyond  a  doubt." 
And  causing  the  name  and  surname  of  the 

S»uth  to  be  given  to  him,  he  noted  them  down, 
e  added,  that  he  should  be  at  their  village  in 
a  few  days,  that  Lucia  could  then  return  with- 
out apprehension,  and  that  in  the  meantime 
be  would  think  how  to  place  her  in  some  se- 
cure asylum,  until  every  thing  could  be  ar- 
ranged for  the  best. 

Turning,  then,  to  the  proprietors  of  the 
house,  he  renewed  the  thanks  which  he  had 
already  sent  them  by  the  curate,  and  asked 
them  if  they  would  be  content  to  entertain  for 
those  few  days  the  guests  whom  God  had  sent 
to  them. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir !"  replied  the  woman,  with  a 
tone  of  voice,  and  a  look  that  signified  much 
more  than  that  dry  assent,  almost  stifled  by 
diffidence.  But  the  husband,  warned  by  the 
presence  of  such  an  interrogator,  and  by  the 
tlesire  to  do  himself  honor  upon  an  occasion 
of  so  much  importance,  was  studying  to  find 
out  some  fine  turned  answer.  He  gathered 
his  brows,  thrust  out  his  eyes,  compressed  his 
mouth,  put  the  bow  of  his  understanding  to 
the  full  stretch,  and  braced  it  up  as  much  as 
he  could.  He  felt  a  mass  of  imperfect  ideas  and 
mutilated  phrases  within  him,  out  the  moment 
pressed,  the  cardinal  made  a  sign  as  if  he  com- 
prehended the  cause  of  their  silence,  when  the 
poor  man,  opening  his  mouth,  said,  "Imagine 
only  ! "  Not  anotner  word  could  he  get  out. 
He  was  not  only  humiliated  for  the  moment, 
but  ever  afterwards  the  importunate  recollec- 


tion of  this  unlucky  failure,  spoiled  all  the  com- 
plaisance with  which  he  would  have  thought 
of  this  great  honor.  And  how  many  times, 
looking  Ijack  to  that  moment,  and  recalling 
the  circumstance  to  his  memory,  did  not  words, 
as  if  in  spite,  present  themselves,  that  would 
have  been  infinitely  more  to  the  purpose  than 
that  silly  "  imagine  now."  But  at  that  pre- 
cious moment,  the  sense  he  exhibited  was  not 
worth  picking  up  out  of  the  streets. 

The  cardinal  left  the  house,  saying,  "  The 
blessing  of  God  be  upon  this  dwelling." 

In  the  evening  he  asked  the  curate  how  he 
could,  in  a  satisfactory  manner,  compensate 
that  man,  who  was  certainly  not  rich,  for  the 
charge  of  his  hospitality,  which  must  be  bur- 
densome at  that  particular  time.  The  curate 
replied,  that  in  truth  neither  the  profits  of  his 
trade,  nor  the  rent  of  a  few  small  fields  he 
possessed,  admitted,  that  scarce  year,  of  his 
being  very  liberal  to  others  ;  but  that,  having 
laid  by  something  the  preceding  years,  he  was 
in  as  easy  circumstances  as  any  of  his  neigh- 
bors, and  could  therefore  be  kind  without 
hurting  himself,  and  that  he  did  it  most  cordial- 
ly ;  and  that  he  thought  he  might  take  offence 
if  any  money  was  offered  to  him  as  a  compen- 
sation. 

"  Probably,"  said  the  cardinal,  "  people  may 
owe  him  money  which  he  cannot  collect." 

"Most  illustrious!  Monsignor,  these  poor 
people  pay  their  debts  with  the  superabun- 
dance of  their  crops  ;  the  past  year  they  had 
none  at  all,  only  just  enough  to  maintain  them- 
selves, and  the  present  year  they  have  not  as 
much  as  they  want  for  themselves." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Federigo,  "  I  will  take 
upon  myself  to  pay  all  those  debts  due  to  him, 
and  you  will  do  me  the  favor  to  get  from  him 
an  account  of  them,  and  to  discharge  them." 

"  It  will  not  be  a  very  large  sum." 

"  So  much  the  better,  for  you  must  have 
amongst  you  too  many  of  those  miserable,  and 
unprovided  creatures,  who  have  no  debts  be- 
cause they  have  no  credit." 

"  It  is  too  true  !  we  do  as  well  as  we  can,  but 
we  cannot  relieve  eveiy  body  in  such  seasons 
as  this." 

"  Let  him  put  them  down  to  my  account, 
and  pay  him  well.  Truly  every  thing  that 
does  not  go  to  buy  bread  this  year  appears  to 
me  to  be  a  robbery,  but  this  is  a  particular 
case.'' 

We  will  not  close  the  story  of  this  day, 
without  briefly  relating  how  the  Un-named 
terminated  it. 

This  time  the  fame  of  his  conversion  had 
preceded  him  into  the  valley,  had  spread  itself 
around,  and  had  occasioned  every  where,  trou- 
ble, anxiety,  vexation,  and  murmuring.  The  first 
Bravos,  or  servants  (one  and  the  same  thing) 
that  he  met,  he  made  signs  to  follow  him, 
and  so  to  all  others.  All  obeyed,  uncertain  of 
what  was  to  happen,  but  with  their  accustom- 
ed .submission,  and  thus,  with  an  increasing 
retinue,  he  reached  the  castle.  Those  whom 
he  found  at  the  gates,  he  made  signs  to  come 


158 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


on  with  the  rest,  and  entering  the  court-yard, 
and  going  to  the  centre  of  it,  still  seated  on  his 
mule,  he  gave  out  one  of  his  thundering  calls, 
the  accustomed  signal  which  all  his  people  ran 
to,  whenever  they  heard  it.  In  a  moment  all 
those  who  were  scattered  about  the  castle, 
obeyed  his  voice,  joined  the  rest  of  his  people, 
the  whole  of  whom  looked  at  their  master. 

"  Go  and  wait  for  me  in  the  great  hall," 
said  he,  and  kept  his  seat  until  they  departed. 
He  then  dismounted,  led  the  mule  himself  to 
the  stable,  and  went  to  the  hall.  At  his  ap- 
pearance, a  great  whispering  that  prevailed, 
suddenly  ceased,  all  drew  to  one  side,  leaving 
a  great  space  vacant  for  him :  there  was  about 
thirty  of  them. 

The  Un-named  held  out  his  hand,  as  if  to 
preserve  the  silence  his  presence  had  produced, 
and  raising  his  head,  which  was  conspicuously 
above  the  rest  of  them,  he  said,  "Listen,  all  of 

S,  and  let  no  one  speak,  unless  I  request  him. 
y  sons,  the  path  we  have  trod  until  this  mo- 
ment, leads  to  the  bottom  of  hell.  I  am  not 
going  to  reproach  you,  I  am  the  foremost 
amongst  you,  I  am  the  worst  of  ye  all,  but 
listen  to  what  I  have  to  say  to  you.  The  most 
merciful  God  has  called  me  to  change  my  life, 
and  I  will  change  it,  I  have  changed  it ;  may 
he  do  the  same  with  ye  all.  Know  then,  and 
remain  assured,  that  I  have  resolved  rather  to 
die  than  to  do  any  thing  against  his  holy  law. 
I  release  every  one  of  you  from  the  wicked 
orders  you  have  received  from  me,  you  under- 
stand me  ;  nay,  I  command  you  not  to  execute 
anything  whatever  which  you  were  ordered  to 
do.  Be  equally  assured  that  no  one  hencefor- 
wards  can  commit  any  sort  of  evil  under  my 
protection,  or  in  my  service.  Whoever 
chooses  to  remain  here  under  these  conditions 
shall  be  as  a  son  to  me,  and  I  will  be  content, 
at  the  end  of  that  day  when  I  shall  have  eaten 
nothing,  to  have  given  to  the  last  man  amongst 
you,  the  last  loaf  in  the  house.  He  who  does 
not  choose  to  remain,  his  wages  shall  be  paid 
to  him,  and  a  donative  besides  ;  he  may  depart, 
but  never  let  him  set  his  foot  here  again,  ex- 
cept when  he  has  determined  to  change  his 
life  ;  then  he  shall  be  received  with  open  arms. 
Think  of  it  this  night.  Tomorrow  I  shall  ask 
each  of  you,  one  by  one,  for  an  answer,  and 
then  I  will  give  you  new  orders.  You  may 
now  withdraw,  every  one  to  his  post,  and  may 
God,  who  has  shown  this  mercy  to  me,  turn 
your  thoughts  to  what  is  good." 

Here  he  was  silent,  and  all  remained  so.  Va- 
rious and  tumultuous  as  were  the  thoughts  that 
agitated  them,  no  signs  were  to  be  perceived 
of  it.  They  were  accustomed  to  receive  the 
voice  of  their  master  as  the  manifestation  of  a 
will  that  was  not  to  be  disputed ;  and  that 
voice,  announcing  that  his  will  was  changed, 
did  not  denote,  in  any  manner,  that  it  was  en- 
feebled. It  never  even  occurred  to  the  mind 
of  any  one  of  them,  that  because  he  was  con- 
verted, that  they  should  offer  any  resistance  to 
his  will,  or  reply  to  him  as  they  would  to  an- 
other man.  They  saw  in  him  a  saint,  but  one 


of  those  saints  who  are  painted  with  their  front 
erect,  and  a  sword  in  their  hands.  Besides 
the  awe  in  which  they  stood  of  him,  they  also 
entertained  for  him,  (being  principally  born 
upon  his  estate, )  the  affection  of  liege  men  ; 
and  they  all  felt  a  generous  kind  of  admiration, 
and  that  kind  of  diffidence  when  in  his  pre- 
sence, which  the  rudest  and  most  petulant  spi- 
rits experience  before  a  superiority  which  they 
have  once  recognized.  What  he  had  now  said 
to  them,  although  it  was  odious  to  their  ears, 
was  not  false,  nor  altogether  strange  to  their 
understandings ;  a  thousand  times  they  had  ri- 
diculed these  notions,  not  because  they  utterly 
disbelieved  them,  but  to  drive  away  by  ridi- 
cule the  apprehensions  which  a  serious  reflec- 
tion upon  them  might  have  created.  And  now, 
when  they  witnessed  the  effect  those  apprehen- 
sions had  produced  in  a  mind  like  that  of  their 
master's,  there  was  not  one  of  them  who,  more 
or  less,  was  not  affected,  at  least  for  some  time. 
Those  also,  who  had  heard  the  great  news  out 
of  the  valley,  had  witnessed,  and  had  related 
the  joy  and  the  boldness  of  the  population,  the 
new  favor  the  Un-named  enjoyed,  and  the  ve- 
neration which  had  so  suddenly  succeeded  to 
their  former  terror  and  hatred ;  so  that  the  man 
whom  they  had  all  looked  up  to  when  they 
had  constituted  the  greatest  part  of  his  power, 
they  now  beheld  the  wonder,  and  the  idol  of  a 
whole  multitude.  They  beheld  him  exalted 
above  all  others  in  a  manner  different  from  be- 
fore, but  not  less  so,  always  the  first,  always 
the  head. 

They  remained  then  confounded,  uncertain 
one  of  the  other,  and  every  man  about  him- 
self. This  one  worried  himself,  and  laid 
plans  as  to  where  he  should  go  to  find  ser- 
ivice  and  an  asylum,  the  other  examined  him- 
self as  to  the  possibility  of  his  taking  up  the 
trade  of  an  honest  man ;  others  there  where, 
who  moved  by  his  words  felt  an  inclination  to 
change  their  lives;  some  without  coming  to 
any  conclusion,  proposed  to  make  the  most  of 
it,  to  remain  and  partake  of  the  bread  now  so 
cordially  offered  to  them,  and  so  scarce,  and 
so  to  gain  time.  No  one  spoke.  And  when 
the  Un-named,  at  the  end  of  his  address,  held 
up  again  that  imperious  hand  to  motion  them 
to  retire,  silently,  like  a  flock  of  sheep,  they 
all  moved  to  the  door.  He  followed  them, 
and  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  court-yard, 
he  watched  them  in  the  twilight  as  they  dis- 
persed, each  to  go  to  his  own  post.  Taking  a 
lantern,  he  then  revisited  the  court-yards,  the 
corridors,  the  halls,  and  all  the  entrances  to 
the  castle ;  and  when  he  saw  that  every  thing 
was  quiet,  he  went  at  length  to  rest.  Yes,  to 
rest,  because  he  was  sleepy. 

Such  intricate,  such  urgent  affairs,  though 
for  such  a  length  of  time  he  had  been  engag- 
ed in  them,  he  had  never,  at  any  juncture  of 
time,  had  upon  his  hands  as  now,  and  still  he 
was  sleepy.  The  order,  the  kind  of  govern- 
ment established  within  by  him  for  so  many 
years,  with  so  much  care,  and  with  such  sin- 
gular skill  and  perseverance,  he  had  now 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


159 


brought  into  jeopardy  with  a  few  words  ;  that 
Unlimited  devotion  of  his  people,  their  readi 
ness  to  do  every  thing ;  that  brigand  faith  on 
which  he  had  so  long  reposed,  he  had  now 
himself  shaken :  the  means  he  relied  upon 
he  had  now  converted  into  a  tissue  of  per- 
plexities, he  had  introduced  confusion  and 
uncertainty  into  his  own  house,  and  yet  he 
was  sleepy. 

He  went  therefore  to  his  chamber,  drew 
iiigh  to  the  bed  where  he  had  suffered  so  much 
the  preceding  night,  and  knelt  down  at  the 
edge  of  it,  with  the  intention  of  praying. 
And  in  a  remote  and  neglected  corner  of  his 
mind,  he  found  the  very  prayers  he  had  beer, 
taught  to  say  when  he  was  a  child ;  and  be- 
gan to  repeat  them.  The  words  which  had 
so  long  been  buried  and  wound  up  there, 
came  issuing  forth  one  after  the  other. 

It  was  an  undefinable  feeling  which  he  ex- 
perienced ;  a  sweet  return  to  the  habits  of  in«- 
nocency,  a  piercing  sorrow  at  the  thought  of 
the  abyss  which  he  had  created  betwixt  that 
period  and  the  present  one ;  an  ardor  to  arrive, 
by  works  of  expiation,  to  a  new  conscience,  to 
a  state,  the  nearest  to  that  innocence,  to  which 
he  never  could  return  ;  a  gratitude,  a  faith  in 
that  mercy  which  was  able  to  lead  him  there, 
and  which  had  given  him  so  many  tokens  of 
an  intention  to  do  so.  Rising  from  his  knees, 
he  laid  down,  and  went  to  sleep  immediately. 
Thus  terminated  that  day  so  celebrated 
even  when  our  anonymous  author  wrote,  and 
now,  but  for  him,  we  should  have  been  igno- 
rant altogether  of  it,  at  least  of  its  details  : 
for  Ripamonti  and  Rivola,  quoted  by  us,  say 
only,  that  that  very  remarkable  tyrant,  after 
his  interview  with  Federigo,  changed  his  life 
in  a  wonderful  manner,  and  persevered  in  the 
change. 

How  many  persons  are  there  who  have 
read  those  two  authors  ?  Fewer  even  than 
those  who  will  read  our  book.  And  who  knows 
if  even  in  the  same  valley — if  any  one  had  the 
inclination  and  the  ability  to  look  for  and  to 
find  it — any  trace  or  confused  tradition  of  the 
fact  would  be  found  ?  So  many  things  have 
taken  place  since  that  time. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  following  day,  in  Lucia's  village,  and 
in  the  whole  territory  of  Lecco,  nothing  was 
talked  of  but  her.  The  Un-named,  the  arch- 
bishop, and  one  other  individual,  who  although 
Desirous  enough  of  his  name  being  in  men's 
mouths,  upon  this  occasion  would  willingly 
have  had  it  less  so  ;  we  mean  to  speak  of  Don 
Rodrigo. 

Not  that  but  before  this  time  men  were 
wont  to  talk  of  his  doings,  yet  it  was  always 
cautiously  and  secretly  done ;  two  persons 
must  be  very  well  acquainted  with  each  other, 


before  they  would  venture  to  converse  on  that 
subject ;  and  even  then,  not  with  all  the 
feeling  they  were  capable  of :  for  men,  gene- 
rally speaking,  when  they  cannot  express 
their  indignation  without  much  danger,  not 
only  do  not  fully  evince  it,  or  even  suppress  it 
within  themselves,  but  absolutely  do  not  feel 
it  to  the  same  extent.  Now,  however,  who 
was  there  who  could  restrain  himself  from 
talking  and  reasoning  about  sucn  an  astound- 
ing fact,  in  which  the  hand  of  Heaven  was 
manifestly  seen,  and  where  two  such  remark- 
able personages,  appeared  so  conspicuously  ? 
One  in  whom  such  a  resolute  love  of  justice 
was  united  to  such  great  authority;  the  other, 
where  tyranny  itself  in  person,  appeared  to  be 
humiliated,  and  the  very  head  of  the  whole 
host  of  Bravos  had  come  as  it  were  to  lay 
down  his  arms,  and  his  occupation.  Com- 
pared with  these,  Don  Rodrigo  dwindled  into 
comparative  insignificance.  Then  it  was, 
that  all  had  time  to  comprehend  what  it  was 
to  torment  innocence  in  order  to  dishonor  it, 
to  persecute  it  with  such  impudent  persever- 
ance, with  such  atrocious  violence,  and  with 
such  abominable  schemes.  Upon  this  occa- 
sion, they  went  into  a  review  of  many  other 
of  this  nobleman's  exploits,  and  spoke  of 
them  openly,  just  as  they  thought,  every  one 
emboldened  by  finding  all  of  the  same  opin- 
ion. A  universal  murmur  and  indignation 
was  expressed,  cautiously  however,  on  ac- 
count of  the  Bravos  which  he  kept  around 
him. 

A  good  portion  of  these  public  animadver- 
sions/fell  upon  his  friends  and  courtiers.  The 
Signer  Podesta  came  in  for  his  full  share,  a 
man  who  was  always  deaf,  and  blind,  and 
mute,  where  the  deeds  of  that  tyrant  were 
brought  in  question  ;  but  they  were  careful  not 
to  talk  of  him  where  it  would  readily  reach 
his  ears,  for  he  too  had  the  birri  at  his  com- 
mand. With  the  Doctor  Azzecca-garbugli, 
who  had  nothing  but  caballing  and  talking  to 
help  him,  they  were  not  so  cautious,  or  with 
the  fry  of  small  courtiers,  like  him ;  they 
were  pointed  and  frowned  at,  so  that  for  a 
while  they  esteemed  it  best  not  to  show  them- 
selves in  the  public  square. 

Don  Rodrigo,  thunderstruck  by  such  unex- 
pected news,  so  different  from  the  intelli- 
gence he  expected  to  receive  every  dayy 
and  every  moment,  kept  close  in  his  palace, 
alone  with  his  Bravos,  for  two  whole  days, 
chewing  his  venom,  the  third  he  vrent  to 
Milan.  If  he  had  had  nothing  to  appre- 
hend but  the  discontent  of  the  people,  per- 
haps, since  things  had  gone  so  far,  he  would 
have  remained  on  purpose  to  brave  them,  and 
even  to  seek  an  opportunity  to  make  an  ex- 
ample of  some  of  the  boldest  of  them ;  but 
what  drove  him  away,  was  the  certain  intelli- 
gence he  had  received,  that  the  cardinal  was 
coming  into  his  neighborhood.  The  count 
uncle,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  whole  histo- 
ry of  the  matter  but  what  Attilio  had  told  him, 
would  have  certainly  expected  upon  such  an 


160 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


occasion,  that  Don  Rodrigo  should  have  wait- 
ed first  upon  the  cardinal,  in  order  that  a  dis- 
tinguished public  reception  should  be  given  to 
him ;  it  was  too  evident  there  was  but  a  small 
chance  for  that.  He  would  not  only  have  ex- 
pected it,  but  he  would  have  insisted  upon 
having  a  very  minute  account  of  it,  as  it  was 
a  most  important  occasion  to  display  the  high 
consideration  in  which  the  name  of  his  house 
was  held  by  a  dignitary  of  the  first  rank.  To 
avoid  so  odious  an  embarrassment,  Don  llod- 
rigo,  rising  one  morning  before  day,  got  into 
his  carriage  with  Griso,  with  other  Bravos 
outside,  before  and  behind,  and  having  left 
orders  that  the  rest  of  the  family  should  fol- 
low him,  he  went  off  like  a  fugitive,  as  (will 
it  be  permitted  us  to  elevate  our  personages  a 
little  by  some  illustrious  comparison)  Cata- 
line  did  from  Rome,  raging  and  swearing  that 
he  would  return  in  other  guise  to  wreak  his 
vengeance. 

In  the  meantime,  the  cardinal  went  on 
visiting,  one  every  day,  the  parishes  situated 
in  the  territory  of  Lecco.  The  day  that  he 
was  to  arrive  at  Lucia's  village,  a  great  part 
of  the  inhabitants  went  on  the  road  to  meet 
him.  At  the  entrance  into  the  place,  close  to 
the  cottage  of  our  two  females,  there  was  a 
triumphal  arch,  constructed  with  stakes  placed 
transversely,  covered  with  straw  and  moss, 
and  set  off  with  green  boughs  of  holly,  full  of 
bright  red  berries :  the  front  of  the  church 
was  covered  with  tapestry ;  from  every  win- 
dow coverlids  and  sheets  were  spread  out ; 
children's  swaddling  clothes,  were  arranged 
like  flags,  every  thing  they  had,  that  was  fit 
to  make,  well  or  ill,  a  figure  of  superfluity. 
Towards  vespers,  (the  hour  at  which  Federigo 
always  arranged  to  arrive  at  the  church 
he  was  visiting)  those  who  had  remained  at 
home,  old  men,  women,  and  children  in  still 
greater  numbers,  went  out  also  to  meet  him, 
some*  in  files,  some  in  a  body,  preceded  by 
Don  Abbondio,  uneasy  amidst  all  this  festivi- 
ty, from  the  noise  that  stupified  him,  the  buz- 
zing of  the  people  up  anu  down,  who,  as  he 
said,  made  him  giddy  to  see  them,  and  from 
a  secret  fear,  that  the  women  might  have  been 
gossiping,  and  letting  something  out  about  the 
marriage. 

And  now  the  cardinal  appeared,  or  to  speak 
more  correctly,  the  crowd  amidst  which  he 
was,  in  his  litter,  with  his  suite  near  to  him :  for 
of  all  this  nothing  could  be  discerned,  save  a 
sign  in  the  air,  above  all  their  heads,  a  portion 
of  the  cross  carried  by  the  chaplain  on  his 
mule.  Those  who  accompanied  Don  Abbon- 
dio, hastened  on  in  great  confusion  to  join  the 
others,  and  he,  after  calling  out  to  them  several 
times,  "  gently,  in  files,  wnat  are  you  doing  ?" 
turned  back  vexed,  and  muttering  all  the 
time,  "  a  Babel,  a  perfect  Babel,"  got  into  the 
church  which  was  empty,  and  remained  there 
waiting. 

The  cardinal  advanced,  giving  benedictions 
with  his  hand,  and  receiving  them  back  from 
the  mouths  of  the  people,  whom  his  suite  had 


quite  enough  to  do  to  keep  a  little  back ;  as 
Lucia's  countrymen,  they  were  desirous  of 
making  extraordinary  demonstrations  to  the 
archbishop,  but  the  thing  was  not  easily  done, 
since  it  was  an  old  custom,  wherever  he  went, 
for  all  to  do  every  thing  in  their  power.  In- 
deed, at  the  very  commencement  of  his  episco- 
pacy, at  his  first  solemn  entrance  into  the 
cathedral,  the  press  of  the  people  behind  him 
was  such,  that  he  was  in  some  danger  of  his 
life,  and  some  gentlemen  near  him,  had  drawn 
their  swords  to  frighten  and  keep  the  mob  off. 
So  rude  and  violent  were  they  in  those  days, 
that  e.ven  in  their  demonstrations  of  good  will 
to  a  bishop  in  his  church,  and  to  make  much 
of  him,  it  was  necessary  to  do  every  thing 
but  kill  him.  And  indeed  the  interference  of 
those  gentlemen  would  have  been  insufficient, 
if  two  courageous  and  stout  priests,  had  not 
raised  him  up  in  their  arms,  and  carried  him 
all  the  way  from  the  gates  of  the  'temple,  to 
the  very  foot  of  the  great  altar.  '-From  that 
time  to  the  present,  in  so  many  episcopal 
visits  that  he  made,  his  first  entrance  into  the 
cathedral,  may,  without  speaking  lightly,  be 
enumerated  amongst  his  pastoral  fatigues,  and 
indeed  amongst  the  dangers  he  had  escaped. 

He  got  into  this  church  also  as  well  as  he 
could,  went  to  the  altar,  and  there,  having 
prayed  a  short  time,  addressed,  according  to 
his  custom,  a  few  words  to  those  around  him, 
expressive  of  his  love  for  them,  of  his  desire 
for  their  salvation,  and  of  the  manner  in  which 
they  should  prepare  themselves  for  the  func- 
tions of  the  succeeding  day.  Having  with- 
drawn to  the  house  of  the  parish  priest,  amongst 
other  things  he  had  to  confer  with  him,  he 
spoke  of  Renzo,  asked  what  sort  of  man  he 
was,  and  what  his  conduct  had  been.  Don 
Abbondio  said  that  he  was  a  young  man  rather 
quick  tempered,  a  little  self-willed,  and  some- 
what passionate.  But  to  the  more  precise  and 
special  inquiries  that  were  made,  he  was  obli- 
ged to  answer  that  he  was  an  honest  man,  and 
that  he  himself  could  not  comprehend  how  he 
could  have  committed  so  many  extravagances 
in  Milan,  as  were  reported  around. 

"And  the  young  girl,"  said  the  cardinal, 
"  does  it  appear  to  you  that  she  might  return 
now  to  remain  in  safety  in  her  own  house  ?" 

"  At  present,"  replied  Don  Abbpndib,  "she 
can  come  and  remain,  just  as  she  likes ;  but," 
he  added  with  a  sigh,  "  itwould  be  necessary 
that  your  most  illustrious  excellency  should  be 
always  present,  or  at  least  in  the  neighbor- 
hood." 

"  The  Lord  is  always  present,"  said  the  car- 
dinal ;  "  as  to  the  rest,  I  will  think  about  pla- 
cing her  in  some  secure  asylum."  He  then 
gave  orders  to  send  off  the  litter  early  in  the 
morning,  with  an  escort,  to  bring  the  females. 

Don  Abbondio  was  delighted  that  the  cardi- 
nal should  have  spoken  to  him  of  the  young 
pair,  without  asking  him  why  he  had  refused 
to  marry  them.  He  knows  nothing  about  it, 
then,  said  he  to  himself.  Agnes  has  not  blab- 
bed—what a  miracle  !  They  will  have  to  see 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


161 


him  again,  but  I  must  give  them  some  more 
instructions.  The  poor  man  was  not  aware 
that  Federigo  had  not  entered  upon  that  sub- 
ject, expressly  because  he  intended  to  speak  to 
him  of  it  at  length  upon  a  more  convenient 
occasion  ;  and  before  reproving  him  as  he  de- 
served, he  was  desirous  of  knowing  his  rea- 
sons. 

But  the  good  prelate's  cares  for  the  safety  of 
Lucia,  were  become  superfluous  ;  since  he  left 
them,  circumstances  had  arisen,  which  we 
shall  now  relate. 

The  two  women,  in  the  few  days  they  had 
to  pass  under  the  hospitable  roof  of  the  tailor, 
had  resumed,  as  much  as  things  admitted  of, 
each  her  accustomed  mode  of  life.  Lucia  had 
immediately  asked  for  some  wrork  to  do ;  and 
as  she  had  done  in  the  monastery,  kept  at.  work 
with  her  needle,  in  a  back  room,  far  from  ob- 
servation. Agnes  went  out  a  little,  and  some- 
times also  sat  down  and  sewed  by  her  daugh- 
ter. Their .  conversation,  though  somewhat 
melancholy,  was  affectionate  ;  both  were  pre- 
pared for  a  separation,  for  the  lamb  was  not  in 
safety  so  near  the  wolf's  den.  and  when  was 
this  separation  to  terminate  ?  The  future  was 
obscure,  impenetrable,  for  one  of  them  espe- 
cially. Still,  Agnes  comforted  herself  with 
indulging  in  conjectures  about  it.  Renzo,  if 
nothing  sinister  had  happened  to  him,  would 
soon  contrive  to  send  some  news  of  himself, 
and  if  he  had  found  work,  and  a  good  situa- 
tion, if  (and  how  was  that  to  be  doubted  ?)  he 
still  preserved  his  faith  to  Lucia,  why  could 
they  not  go  and  stay  with  him  ?  Frequently 
she  entertained  her  daughter  with  these  hopes, 
to  whom,  it  w^uld  be  difficult  to  say,  whether 
it  was  more  'painful  to  listen,  or  to  be  obliged 
to  answer.  She  had  always  kept  her  great  se- 
cret to  herself;  and  uneasy  and  displeased  with 
herself  at  having  concealments  from  so  good  a 
mother,  yet  invincibly  restrained  her  modesty 
and  the  various  apprehensions  we  have  alluded 
to,  she  suffered  the  days  to  pass  without  speak- 
ing of  it.  Her  plans  were  very  different  from 
those  of  her  mother,  or,  more  properly  speak- 
ing, she  had  no  plans  at  all ;  she  had  aban- 
doned herself  entirely  to  Providence.  She 
sought,  therefore,  to  avoid  conversations  of 
this  kind,  by  making  no  answers,  or  by  saying 
in  general  terms,  that  she  had  no  longer  either 
hope  or  desire  for  any  thing  in  this  world,  save 
to  be  united  again  to  her  mother,  and  often 
tears  opportunely  came  as  a  substitute  for 
words.  f 

"  Dost  thou  know  why  it  seems  so  to  thee  ':" 
said  Agnes.  "  It  is  because  thou  hast  suffered 
so  much,  and  it  seems  to  thee  as  if  things  would 
never  get  right  again ;  but  leave  it  to  the  Lord, 
and  if— let  only  one  ray  of  sunshine  come, 
only  one,  and  then  thou  wilt  tell  me  whether 
thou  hast  any  hope  for  any  thing  or  not."  Lu- 
cia kissed  her  mother  and  wept. 

Between  them  and  their  hosts,  a  great  friend- 
ship had  sprung  up ;  and  where  should  friend- 
ship spring,  if  not  between  benefactors  and 
the  objects  of  their  kindness,  when  all  of  them  j 
21 


are  virtuous  ?  Agnes,  especially,  indulged  in 
long  gossipings  with  the  mistress  of  the 
house.  The  tailor  also  amused  them  with  his 
stories,  and  some  of  his  moral  discourses,  and 
at  dinner,  especially,  he  always  had  some  good 
thing  to  tell  of  Buovo  d'Antona,  or  of  the  fa- 
thers of  the  desert. 

A  few  miles  from  the  village  dwelt  a  singu- 
lar kind  of  couple,  Don  Ferrante  and  Donna 
Prasede;  their  family  name,  as  usual,  our 
anonymous  author  has  kept  to  himself.  Don- 
na Prasede  was  an  old  gentlewoman,  much 
disposed  to  do  good,  certainly  one  of  the  best 
occupations  one  can  be  employed  in,  but 
which,  like  all  others,  can  be  spoiled  too.  To 
do  good  it  is  requisite  to  know  what  it  is,  and, 
like  all  other  things,  we  can  only  know  it 
through  our  passions,  our  judgment,  and  our 
ideas  ;  all  of  which  are  too  frequently  no  bet- 
ter than  they  should  be.  Donna  Prasede  ob- 
served that  particular  rule  with  her  ideas, 
which  it  is  said  we  ought  all  to  observe  to  our 
friends ;  she  had  but  a  few,  and  she  was  very 
fond  of  them.  Amongst  those  few,  there 
were,  unfortunately,  some  very  ungainly  ones, 
and  they  were  not  those  she  loved  the  least. 
It  fell  out,  therefore,  that  she  would  set  up  a 
thing  for  a  good  thing,  which  was  not  so,  or 
'she  would  adopt  means  to  produce  good,  which 
had  a  stronger  tendency  the  other  way ;  or 
think  those  means  lawful  ones,  which  were 
not  at  all  so,  through  a  supposition  in  the 
clouds,  that  they  who  do  more  than  their  duty, 
acquire  a  consequent  right  to  go  in  that  di- 
rection. It  frequently  occurred  to  her  not  to 
see  in  facts,  what  really  was  true,  or  to  see 
realities  which  had  no  existence ;  and  many 
other  things  of  a  similar  nature,  such  as  may 
and  do  happen  to  all,  without  excepting  the 
best  of  us :  but  to  Donna  Prasede  they  occur- 
red not  unfrequently,  and  not  seldom  all  to- 
gether. 

When  she  heard  of  the  great  affair  of  Lucia, 
and  the  extraordinary  things  said  upon  that 
occasion  of  the  young  maiden,  she  conceived 
a  strong  desire  to  see  her,  and  sent  her  carriage 
with  an  old  usher  to  bring  both  mother  and 
daughter.  Lucia  was  averse  to  going,  and  en- 
treated the  tailor  who  gave  her  the  information, 
to  excuse  her.  He  had  willingly  done  thi? 
upon  previous  occasions,  when  some  of  the 
lower  classes  had  sought  to  become  acquainted 
with  the  maiden  of  the  miracle,  but  obstinacy 
at  this  time,  appeared  to  him  a  kind  of  rebel- 
lion. He  made  so  many  grimaces,  so  many 
exclamations,  said  so  many  things — that  people 
did  not  act  in  that  way,  that  it  was  an  import- 
ant thing,  that  no  was  not  to  be  said  to  great 
people,  that  it  might  be  the  making  of  their 
fortune,  and  that  Donna  Prasede,  besides  other 
considerations,  was  herself  a  saint. — Finally, 
he  said  so  much,  that  Lucia  was  obliged  to 
yield,  more  especially  since  Agnes  confirmed 
all  his  reasonings  by  adding,  "  certainly,  to  be 
sure." 

Having  reached  Donna  Prasede's,  she  re- 
ceived them  with  many  congratulations  and 


I 


162 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


much  kindness,  interrogated,  advised  them,  all 
with  a  sort  of  innate  superiority,  but  tempered 
by  so  many  humble  expressions,  so  much  zeal, 
and  seasoned  by  so  much  piety,  that  Agnes 
almost  immediately,  and  Lucia  very  soon,  be- 
gan to  feel  themselves  relieved  from  that  op- 
pressive sort  of  respect  which  her  damely  pre- 
sence had  struck  them  with,  and  began  to  feel 
pleased  with  it.  Donna  Prasede,  finding  soon 
after,  that  the  cardinal  had  undertaken  to  place 
Lucia  in  an  asylum,  became  filled  with  the  de- 
sire to  second,  and,  indeed,  to  anticipate  such 
a  good  intention,  and  to  receive  the  young  girl 
in  her  house,  where  no  service  should  be  im- 

gosed  upon  her  but  needle  work,  and  occupa- 
ons  of  that  kind.     She  added,  that  she  would 
take  it  upon  herself  to  give  information  to 
Monsignor. 

Besides  the  obvious  and  immediate  good 
'iere  was  in  an  act  of  this  kind,  Donna  Prasede 
erceived,  and  proposed  to  herself  another, 
erhaps  of  more  importance  in  her  eyes ;  to 
icct  a  head  that  wanted  judgment,  and  to 
put  in  the  good  way  one  who  stood  in  much 
need  of  it :  for  from  the  moment  when  she 
had  first  heard  Lucia  spoken  of,  she  immedi- 
ately persuaded  herself  that  there  must  be 
something  wrong,  some  peccant  matter  in  the 
composition  of  any  girl,  who  could  form  an 
engagement  with  a  notorious  rogue,  and  a 
wicked  hang  gallows,  like  the  man  she  was 
attached  to.  Tell  me  what  company  you 
keep,  and  I  will  tell  you  who  you  are.  Lucia's 
nsit  had  confirmed  her  in  that  opinion.  Not 
;hat  at  the  bottom,  she  did  not  appear  to  Don- 
ha  Prasede  to  be  a  good  girl,  but  there  were  a 
great  many  things  to  say.  That  little  head 
Rung  down,  with  the  chin  buried  in  her  throat, 
that  hesitation  to  answer,  or  slow  mode  of  an- 
swering, as  if  she  was  doing  it  by  force,  might 
denote  bashfulness,  but  looked  very  much  like 
stubbornness  :  it  did  not  require  much  to  di- 
vine that  that  little  head  haa  some  notions  of 
its  own.  And  that  blushing  every  moment, 
and  then  sighing :  those  two  large  eyes,  too, 
Donna  Prasede  did  not  like  them  at  all.  She 
held  it  as  firmly  as  if  she  knew  it  perfectly, 
that  all  Lucia's  misfortunes  were  a  punishment 
from  Heaven,  on  account  of  her  attachment  to 
that  villain,  and  a  warning  to  her  to  forget  it ; 
and  having  settled  that  in  her  mind,  she  pro- 
poscil  to  co-operate  with  Heaven  in  producing 
so  desirable  a  result.  For,  as  she  often  said 
to  others,  and  to  herself,  all  her  study  was  to 
second  the  will  of  Heaven.  Poor  Donna  Pra- 
sede  often  fell  into  the  sad  mistake  of  suppos- 
ing her  own  brains  and  the  will  of  Heaven  to 
be  one  and  the  same  thing.  However,  she 
was  careful  not  to  let  out  the  least  hint  of  her 
intention ;  it  was  one  of  her  maxims,  that  to 
conduct  a  good  design  to  a  happy  end,  the  first 
thing  to  do,  in  most  cases,  was  not  to  let  peo- 
ple know  what  you  were  aiming  at. 

The  mother  and  the  daughter  looked  at  each 
other :  the  painful  necessity  of  their  being  se- 
parated being  evident,  the  otter  appeared  to 
both  of  them  most  acceptable,  if  only  on  ac- 


count of  Donna  Prasede  living  so  near  to  their 
own  village ;  so  that,  at  the  worst,  they  would 
be  nigh  to  each  other,  and  could  see  each  other 
occasionally.  Perceiving  in  each  other's  eyes 
that  the  proposition  was  mutually  agreeable, 
they  turned  to  Donna  Prasede,  and  thanked 
her  in  a  tone  that  indicated  their  consent.  She 
renewed  her  courtesies  and  promises,  and  said 
that  she  would  have  a  letter  prepared  for  them 
to  present  to  Monsignor.  As  soon  as  the  wo- 
men were  gone,  Don  Ferrante  prepared  the 
letter,  for,  being  a  literary  man,  as  we  shall 
more  particularly  show,  she  made  use  of  him 
as  a  secretary,  upon  important  occasions. 
Upon  an  affair  of  this  rare  kind,  Don  Ferrante 
put  his  wits  to  the  stretch,  and  giving  the 
sketch  to  his  consort  to  copy,  he  recommended 
to  her  in  the  warmest  terms  to  mind  the  or- 
thography, for  it  was  one  of  the  many  things 
he  had  studied,  and  one  of  the  very  few  which 
he  was  master  of  in  the  whole  establishment. 
Donna  Prasede  copied  it  carefully,  and  sent  it 
to  the  tailor's.  This  was  two  or  three  days 
before  the  cardinal  sent  the  litter  to  reconduct 
the  women  to  their  o,vvn  home. 

The  cardinal  was  uot  gone  to  church,  when 
they  arrived  and  stopped  at  the  parsonage. 
Orders  were  given  to  introduce  them  immedi- 
ately. The  chaplain,  who  was  the  first  to  see 
them,  instantly  went  to  the  women,  and  de- 
layed presenting  them  no  longer  than  was  ne- 
cessary to  give  them  a  few  hurried  instruc- 
tions upon  the  ceremonials  they  should  observe 
with  Monsignor,  and  the  titles  they  should  give 
him ;  a  thing  he  always  was  very  careful  in  do- 
ing, when  he  thought  the  cardinal  would  not 
hear  of  it.  It  was  one  continued  vexation  for 
the  poor  man,  to  observe  the  disorder  that  pre- 
vailed in  relation  to  that  matter,  about  the 
cardinal.  "  All  owing,"  as  he  said,  with  the 
rest  of  the  family,  "  all  owing  to  the  too  great 
goodness  of  that  blessed  man ;  all  on  account 
of  that  familiarity  which  he  permitted."  And 
then  he  would  tell,  how  he  had  more  than  once 
heard  with  his  own  ears  people  say  to  his  ex- 
cellency, "yes,  sir;  no,  sir." 

Just  at  that  moment,  the  cardinal  was  con- 
versing with  Don  Abbondio  about  the  affairs  of 
the  parish,  so  that  he  had  not  even  a  chance 
to  give  his  instructions  to  the  women,  as  he 
was  desirous  of  doing.  All  that  he  could  do, 
was,  in  passing  close  to  them  as  he  went  out 
and  they  came  in,  to  give  them  a  look,  that 
signified  as  well  as  it  could,  how  well  satisfied 
he  was  with  them,  and  that  they  must  perse- 
vere, like  clever  women,  in  holding  their 
tongues. 

Having  made  their  reverences,  Agnes  drew 
from  her  bosom  the  letter,  and  gave  it  to  the 
cardinal,  saying,  "  it  is  from  the  lady  Donna 
Prasede,  who  says  she  is  very  well  acquainted 
with  your  most  illustrious  excellency,  Mon- 
signor, as  naturally  all  you  great  people  must 
know  each  other.  When  you  have  read  it, 
you  will  sec  what  she  wishes." 

Federigo  having  read  and  extracted  the  es- 
sence out  of  the  flowers  of  Don  Ferrante,  re- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


163 


plied  "very  well."  He  knew  the  people 
sufficiently  to  be  assured  that  Lucia  was  in- 
vited there  with  good  intentions,  and  that  she 
would  be  safe  from  the  plots  and  violence  of 
her  persecutor.  What  he  thought  of  Donna 
Prasede's  head,  we  have  no  precise  means  of 
judging.  Probably  she  was  not  exactly  the 
person  he  would  have  chosen  for  such  a  pur- 
pose, but  as  we  have  stated  in  another  place, 
it  was  not  his  custom  to  undo  things  which 
had  been  done  by  those  whom  they  concerned, 
in  order  to  do  them  better. 

"Take  this  separation  too,  in  peace,  and 
the  state  of  uncertainty  in  which  you  are," 
said  he ;  "  encourage  the  hope  that  they  will 
end  soon,  and  that  God  will  direct  every  thing 
to  that  end,  to  which  it  appears  he  has  wished 
to  lead  them,  but  always  hold  the  firm  belief, 
that  whatever  is  his  pleasure,  is  the  best  that 
can  happen  to  you."  Giving  Lucia  individually 
other  proofs  of  his  benevolence,  and  consoling 
them  both,  he  blessed  them,  and  let  them  go. 
On  coming  out  into  the  street,  they  found  a 
swarm  of  friends  of  both  sexes,  the  whole  com- 
mune almost,  waiting  there  to  conduct  them 
in  triumph  to  their  own  house.  There  was  a 
sort  of  emulation  amongst  the  women,  in  con- 
gratulating, crying,  and  asking  questions,  and 
all  expressed  prodigious  sorrow  when  they 
heard  Lucia  was  going  away  the  next  day. 
The  men  disputed  with  one  another  whose 
services  should  be  accepted ;  each  one  wanted 
to  sit  up  and  guard  the  cottage  that  night. 
Upon  this  fact  our  anonymous  author  thought 
proper  to  invent  a  proverb — If  you  want  a 
great  many  friends,  contrive  to  be  able  to  do 
without  them. 

So  much  kindness  confounded  and  stupified 
Lucia,  but  substantially  it  was  of  service 
to  her,  as  it  distracted  her  thoughts  and  her 
recollections  a  little,  which,  eveu  amidst  all 
this  noise,  struggled  within  her,  at  the  sight  of 
her  door,  the  little  rooms,  and  every  other  well 
known  object. 

At  the  sound  of  the  bell,  which  announced 
that  the  church  services  were  soon  to  begin, 
all  moved  towards  the  church,  and  this  was 
another  walk  of  triumph  for  the  restored  pair. 

The  service  being  over,  Don  Abbondio,  who 
had  stepped  out  to  see  if  Perpetua  had  arranged 
every  thing  well  for  dinner,  was  informed  that 
the  cardinal  desired  to  speak  with  him.  He 
immediately  went  to  the  chamber  of  his  distin- 
guished guest,  who,  permitting  him  to  ap- 
proach, began, 

"  Signer  curate,"  and  these  words  were  ad- 
dressed to  him  in  such  a  tone  and  manner  that 
he  saw  clearly  they  were  the  beginning  of  a 
long  and  serious  matter,  "  signer  curate,  why 
did  you  not  join  in  wedlock  this  Lucia  with 
her  betrothed  husband  ?" 

They  have  emptied  the  bag,  sure  enough,  this 
morning — thought  Don  Abbondio,  and  stutter- 
ingly  answered.  "Monsignore  illustrissimo,  no 
doubt  has  heard  of  the  confusion  that  sprung  out 
of  that  affair ;  it  was  so  prodigious  and  so  intri- 
cate, that  even  now,  no  one  has  been  able  to 


see  clearly  into  it,  as  your  most  illustrious 
excellency  may  judge  by  the  fact  that  the 
maiden  is  here,  after  so  many  accidents,  as  if 
by  some  miracle ;  and  the  young  fellow,  after 
other  accidents  also,  is  gone  nobody  knows 
where." 

"I  ask,"  tiie  cardinal  resumed,  "if  it  is 
true,  that  before  all  these  accidents  you  speak 
of,  you  refused  to  celebrate  their  marriage, 
when  you  was  required  to  do  so,  upon  the  day 
that  was  agreed  upon,  and  your  reasons  for 
doing  so." 

"  Truly — if  your  illustrious  excellency  only 
knew — what  intimations,  what  terrible  injunc- 
tions I  have  had  imposed  on  me  not  to  speak 
of  it — "  Here  he  stopped,  without  coining  to 
a  conclusion,  expressing  by  gesture  that  he 
desired  respectfully  to  hint  that  it  would  be  an 
indiscretion  to  wish  to  know  any  further. 

"  But,"  said  the  cardinal,  with  a  voice  and 
countenance  more  than  usually  serious,  "  it  is 
your  bishop,  who  from  regard  to  his  own  duty, 
and  for  your  justification,  wishes  to  know  from 
you  why  you  have  not  done  that  which,  in  the 
regular  way,  you  was  under  an  obligation  to 
do." 

"  Monsignor,"  said  Don  Abbondio,  shrink- 
ing into  as  small  a  compass  as  he  could  get, 
"  I  did  not  mean  to  say — but  it  did  seem  to 
me,  that  matters  being  so  perplexed,  and  so 
old  and  remediless,  it  would  be  useless  to  stir 
them  up  again — nevertheless — but — I  say,  I 
know  that  your  most  illustrious  excellency 
will  not  betray  one  of  your  poor  curates.  For 
only  see,  Monsignor,  your  most  illustrious  ex- 
cellency can't  be  every  where  at  the  same 
time,  whilst  I  remain  here  exposed — still — if 
I  am  commanded,  I  shall  speak,  I  shall  tell 
every  thing." 

"  Speak.  I  desire  nothing  but  to  find  you 
blameless." 

Don  Abbondio  then  began  to  narrate  his  sad 
story,  but  suppressed  the  principal  name,  and 
substituted — a  powerful  nobleman — allotting 
to  prudence  as  much  as  he  could  possibly  af- 
ford to  do  in  such  a  strait. 

"  And  had  you  no  other  reason  but  this  ?" 
asked  the  cardinal,  having  heard  what  he  had 
to  say. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  not  sufficiently  explained 
myself,''  replied  Don  Abbondio.  "  Under 
pain  of  iny  life,  it  was  intimated  to  me  not  to 
celebrate  that  marriage." 

"  And  does  this  appear  to  you  a  sufficient 
reason  for  the  omission  of  a  prescribed  duty?" 

"  I  have  always  endeavored  to  do  my  duty, 
even  when  it  has  been  very  inconvenient  to 
do  it ;  but  when  a  man's  life  is  at  stake — " 

"  When  you  presented  yourself  to  the 
church,"  said  Federigo,  with  a  still  more  se- 
rious countenance,  "to  receive  your  ministry, 
did  she  tell  you  to  be  so  cautious  about  your 
life  ?  Did  she  tell  you  that  the  duties  annexed 
to  the  ministry  were  free  from  all  difficulties, 
or  that  they  had  an  immunity  from  danger  ?  or 
did  she  tell  you,  that  duty  ceased  where  dan- 
ger began  ?  Did  she  not  expressly  tell  you 


164 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


the  contrary .'  Did  she  not  warn  you  that  she 
sent  you  into  the  world  as  a  lamb  amongst 
wolves  ?  Did  you  not  know  that  you  would 
find  violent  men  there,  to  whom  that  which 
you  was  commanded  to  do,  might  be  displeas- 
ing ?  He  from  whom  we  have  our  doctrine  and 
example,  and  in  imitation  of  whom,  we  are 
named,  and  even  call  ourselves  pastors,  when 
he  came  to  this  world  to  dispense  his  great 
office,  did  he  sanction  that  opinion,  that  we 
were  to  be  cautious  about  our  lives,  and  to  be 
watchful  over  them,  and  preserve  them  for  a 
few  days  more  upon  earth,  at  the  expense  of 
charity  and  duty  ?  Was  holy  unction,  the  im- 
position of  hands,  the  grace  of  the  ministry, 
were  all  these  necessary  ?  Why,  the  world  itself 
is  sufficient  for  a  doctrine  of  this  kind.  What 
do  I  say  ?  Oh  shame  !  The  world  itself  denies 
this  to  be  true,  even  the  world  has  its  laws, 
which  prescribe  good,  and  which  put  a  limit 
to  evil.  It  has  its  own  gospel,  a  gospel  of 
pride  and  hatred,  and  does  not  permit  it  to  be 
said  that  the  love  of  life  should  be  urged  as  a 
sufficient  reason  for  breaking  the  command- 
ments. The  world  will  not  have  it  so,  and  is 
obeyed.  And  we,  the  sons  and  the  inessen- 

fers  of  the  promise  !  What  would  the  church 
e,  if  this  language  of  yours  was  held  by  all 
your  brethren  ?  Where  would  she  be,  if  she 
had  come  into  the  world  with  such  opinions  ?" 
Don  Abbondio  held  his  head  down ;  his 
spirit  felt  amidst  these  reasonings  just  as  a 
chicken  would  do  in  the  claws  of  a  hawk,  lift- 
ed up  into  an  unknown  region,  into  an  atmos- 
phere it  had  never  breathed  before.  Perceiv- 
ing that  it  was  necessary  to  make  some  an- 
swer, he  said,  with  a  sort  of  submissive 
unconvinced  manner.  "Monsignor.  I  must 
be  in  the  wrong.  If  one's  own  life  is  to  go 
for  nothing,  why  then  there  is  nothing  to  be 
said.  But  when  one  has  to  do  with  certain 
people,  with  those  that  are  powerful,  and  won't 
listen  to  reason,  and  are  ready  to  play  the 
Bravo  too,  I  really  don't  know  what  is  to  be 
gained  by  going  right  against  them:  this  is 
a  nobleman  that  is  neither  to  be  conquered  nor 
to  be  compromised  with."  "And  do  you  not 
know,  that  with  us,  to  conquer,  means  to  suf- 
fer for  the  sake  of  justice  ?  And  if  you  do 
not  know  this,  what  is  it  you  preach  ?  What 
are  you  master  of?  What  are  the  good  tidings 
you  announce  to  the  poor  ?  Who  pretends, 
in  your  calling,  that  power  is  to  be  conquered 
by  power  ?  Certainly  it  will  never  upon  any 
day,  be  asked  of  you,  if  you  have  subdued 
the  powerful ;  no  mission  and  no  means  were 
ever  given  to  you,  to  that  end.  But  it  will 
most  certainly  be  asked  of  you,  if  you  have 
used  the  means  that  were  entrusted  to  you, 
that  you  might  do  what  you  were  commanded 
to  do,  even  when  men  had  the  temerity  to  for- 
bid you  to  do  your  duty." 

What  curious  men  these  saints  are — thought 
Don  Abbondio— the  amount  of  all  this  is,  that 
the  loves  of  two  young  people  are  of  more 
importance  to  him,  than  the  life  of  a  poor 
priest. — As  far  as  he  was  concerned,  he  would 


have  been  well  satisfied  if  the  conversation 
had  ended  there ;  but  he  perceived  that  the 
cardinal  at  every  pause,  seemed  to  expect  an 
answer,  a  confession,  an  apology,  something 
or  other. 

"I  repeat,  Monsignor,"  replied  he,  then, 
"  that  I  must  be  in  the  wrong — a  man  can't 
give  himself  courage." 

"  Why  then,  I  may  say  to  you,  have  you 
engaged  in  a  ministry,  which  imposes  upon 
you  the  task  of  warring  against  the  passions 
of  the  age  ?  But  how  is  it,  I  would  rather 
say,  that  you  do  not  suppose,  if  in  this  minis- 
try, whatever  may  have  brought  you  into  it, 
you  want  courage  to  fulfil  your  obligations, 
now  is  it  you  do  not  know  there  is  one  who 
can  infallibly  give  it  to  you,  if  you  only  ask  it 
of  him  ?  Do  you  believe  that  all  the  mil- 
lions of  martyrs  were  endowed  with  their 
courage  naturally?  that  they  esteemed  their 
lives  as  vile  naturally  ?  so  many  in  the  flower 
of  their  age,  just  beginning  to  enjoy  life,  so 
many  old  people  accustomed  to  regret  that  it 
was  drawing  to  a  close,  so  many  damsels,  so 
many  mothers  ?  all  have  had  courage,  because 
courage  was  necessary,  and  they  had  faith. 
Knowing  your  own  weakness,  and  your  du- 
ties, have  you  ever  thought  of  preparing 
yourself  for  those  difficult  scenes  in  which 
you  might  be  placed,  and  where  in  fact  you 
have  found  yourself  ?  Ah  !  if  in  so  many 
years  of  pastoral  office,  you  have  (and  could 
it  be  otherwise  ? )  loved  your  flock,  you  have 
placed  your  whole  heart  in  it,  all  your  cares, 
all  your  delight,  courage  could  not  be  wanting 
to  you  at  a  strait ;  love  is  intrepid.  If  then 
you  loved  those  who  were  committed  to  your 
spiritual  care,  those  whom  you  call  children  ; 
when  you  saw  two  of  them  threatened,  as 
well  as  yourself,  certainly,  as  the  weakness 
of  the  flesh  made  you  tremble  on  your  own 
account,  so  love  and  charity  must  have  made 
you  tremble  for  them.  You  will  have  been 
humbled  by  your  first  fear,  because  it  was  an 
effect  of  your  unhappiness,  you  will  have 
implored  strength  to  drive  it  away,  because  it 
was  a  temptation :  but  that  holy,  and  noble 
fear  for  another,  for  your  children,  that  you 
will  not  have  driven  away,  that  you  will  have 
listened  to,  that  will  have  given  you  no  peace, 
that  will  have  incited  you,  constrained  you  to 
think,  and  to  do  all  that  was  in  your  power  to 
avert  the  danger  that  impended  over  them — 
What  did  all  this  fear  and  love  inspire  you  to 
do  ?  What  have  you  done  for  them  ?  What 
have  you  thought  of  for  their  safety  ? 

He  stopped  as  if  he  expected  an  answer. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

To  a  question  of  this  kind  Don  Abbondio — 
who  nevertheless  had  been  considering  how 
he  should  answer  some  of  a  kss  precise  na- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


165 


ture, — had  not  a  word  to  offer.  And  to  tell 
the  truth,  even  we  ourselves,  with  this  manu- 
script before  us,  and  the  pen  in  our  hand, 
having  to  contend  with  nothing  but  phrases, 
and  nothing  to  fear  but  the  criticisms  of  our 
readers,  even  we  feel  a  certain  repugnance  to 
go  on  :  even  we  feel  rather  strange  at  bring- 
ing forward,  with  so  little  fatigue,  so  many  fine 
precepts  of  fortitude  and  charity,  of  laborious 
anxiety  for  others,  and  unlimited  devotion  of 
one's  self.  But  reflecting  that  these  things 
were  said  by  a  man  who  acted  up  to  them,  we 
boldly  pursue  our  course.  "  You  do  not  an- 
swer," resumed  the  cardinal,  "  Ah,  if  you  had 
done  on  your  part,  that  which  charity  and  duty 
required,  however  the  results  might  have  been, 
you  might  now  have  been  able  to  answer.  You 

Serceive  then  yourself,  now,  what  it  is  you  have 
one.  In  not  caring  to  do  that  which  duty  pre- 
scribed to  you,  you  have  obeyed  iniquity :  you 
have  given  a  punctual  obedience :  she  showed 
herself  to  you,  to  signify  her  wishes,  but  desired 
to  remain  concealed  from  those,  who  might 
have  put  themselves  on  their  guard,  and  pro- 
tected themselves  against  her;  she  did  not 
want  to  have  recourse  to  violence,  she  only 
wanted  secrecy,  that  she  might  mature  at  her 
ease  her  schemes  of  violence  and  fraud  :  she 
commanded  you  to  transgress  and  to  be  silent, 
and  you  have  transgressed  and  remained 
silent.  And  now  I  ask  if  you  have  not  done 
more  than  this  ;  you  will  tell  me  if  it  is  true 
that  you  invented  pretexts  for  your  refusal,  in 
order  to  conceal  your  true  reasons?"  Again 
he  stopped  awhile,  waiting  for  an  answer. 

They  have  told  him  that  likewise,  these 
gossiping  women — thought  Don  Abbondio, 
who  still  gave  no  indications  of  an  intention 
to  answer ;  wherefore  the  cardinal  continued, 
"  If  it  is  true,  then,  that  you  have  told  those 
poor  friendless  creatures  that  which  was  not, 
in  order  to  keep  them  in  that  ignorance  and 
darkness,  in  wnich  iniquity  wished  them  to 
remain. — Then  I  must  believe  it  is  so,  then 
nothing  remains  for  me  but  to  blush  with  you, 
and  to  nope  that  you  will  weep  with  me.  See 
to  what  it  has  led  you,  (great  God !  and  but 
now  you  urged  it  as  a  justification)  that  soli- 
citude for  temporal  life  !  It  has  led  you — and 
freely  refute  what  I  say  to  you,  if  it  appears 
unjust,  and  if  it  is  not  so,  receive  it  as  a  sa- 
lutary humiliation — it  has  led  you  to  de- 
ceive the  weak,  and  to  lie  to  your  children," — 
only  look  at  this  now — said  Don  Abbondio 
to  himself, — that  old  Satan  there — he  was 
thinking  of  the  Un-named — must  have  peo- 
ple's arms  thrown  about  his  neck,  whilst  I, 
merely  for  a  white  lie,  told  to  save  my  own 
skin  too,  must  have  a  storm  raised  about  my 
head.  But  they  are  my  superiors,  and  are 
never  in  the  wrong.  It  is  my  destiny  to  have 
all  the  world  upon  my  back,  and  the  saints 
into  the  bargain.  "  I  have  been  wanting," 
said  he ;  then,aloud  to  the  cardinal,  "  I  acknow- 
ledge that  I  have  been  remiss,  but  what  was 
there  left  for  me  to  do  in  such  an  unexpected 
affair  as  that  ?  " 


"  Do  you  still  ask  ?  Have  I  not  told  you  ? 
Was  it  necessary  for  me  to  tell  you  ?  To  love, 
my  son,  to  love  and  pray.  Then  you  would 
have  felt  that  iniquity,  although  she  could 
threaten  and  strike,  had  no  commands  to  give ; 
you  would  have  joined,  according  to  the  laws 
of  God,  those  that  man  wanted  to  separate ; 
you  would  have  dispensed  to  those  unhappy 
innocents  the  ministry  they  had  a  right  to  ex- 
pect from  you :  for  the  consequences,  God 
would  have  been  the  guarantee,  because  his 
law  would  have  been  fulfilled;  but  obeying 
another  law,  you  have  made  yourself  respon- 
sible for  the  consequences,  and  what  conse- 
quences !  But,  perhaps,  all  human  remedies 
were  wanting  to  you;  perhaps  you  thought 
you  had  no  way  of  escape  open,  when  you 
hardly  thought,  or  reflected,  or  looked  around 
you.  Now  you  can  see  that  those  poor  young 
people,  if  you  had  married  them,  would  them- 
selves have  thought  about  their  own  safety, 
that  they  were  prepared  to  fly  from  the  face 
of  their  oppressor,  and  had  already  fixed  upon 
their  place  of  refuge.  But  even  setting  this 
on  one  side,  did  you  not  remember  that  you 
had  a  superior?  How  is  he  possessed  of  au- 
thority to  reprehend  you  for  having  failed  in 
your  duty,  if  the  obligation  to  assist  you  to 
discharge  it,  is  not  imperative  upon  him  ?  Why 
did  you  not  think  of  giving  information  to  your 
bishop  of  the  impediment,  which  an  infamous 
violence  was  opposing  to  the  exercise  of  your 
ministry  ? " 

Just  what  Perpetua  was  saying!  thought 
Don  Abbondio  rather  angrily,  to  whom,  during 
the  whole  of  this  address,  the  most  lively  im- 
ages in  his  fancy,  were  the  figures  of  those  two 
Bravos,  and  the  thought  that  Don  Rodrigo  was 
alive  and  sound,  and  one  day  or  another, 
would  come  back  glorious  and  triumphant,  and 
like  a  roaring  lion.  And  although  the  digni- 
tary before  whom  he  stood,  his  aspect  and  his 
language,  had  an  influence  upon  him,  still,  the 
fear  they  produced  in  him,  did  not  altogether 
subdue  him,  nor  prevent  a  little  rebellion  in 
his  thoughts,  where  a  predominating  idea  was, 
that  the  cardinal  was  not  going  to  terminate 
his  reproofs  with  blunderbusses,  swords,  and 
Bravos . 

"  How  is  it  that  you  have  not  thought,"  pur- 
sued Federigo,  "  that  if  there  was  no  other  re- 
fuge open  to  these  persecuted  innocents,  that 
[  still  remained  to  protect  them,  to  place  them 
in  safety,  to  whom  you  should  nave  sent 
them,  as  derelicts  abandoned  to  a  bishop,  as  be- 
longing properly  to  him,  as  a  precious  part,  I  do 
not  say  of  his  charge,  but  of  his  riches.  And 
as  to  yourself,  I  should  have  been  anxious  on 
your  account ;  I  should  not  have  been  able  to 
sleep  until  I  had  felt  assured  that  not  a  hair  of 
your  head  could  be  hurt.  Had  I  not  the  sure 
means  to  protect  your  life  ?  But  the  man  who 
was  so  daring,  do  you  believe  that  he  would 
not  have  become  less  so,  knowing  that  his 
slots  were  no  longer  a  secret,  that  they  were 
known  to  me,  that  I  was  watching,  and  was 
determined  to  use  all  the  means  placed  in  my 


166 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


power  to  defend  you  ?  Dou  you  not  know  that 
when  man  promises  too  often  more  than  can 
be  performed,  that  he  also  threatens,  not  sel- 
dom, to  do  more  than  he  intends  ?  Do  you  not 
know  that  iniquity  confides  not  altogether 
upon  her  own  strength,  but  also  upon  the  cre- 
dulity and  the  terror  of  others?" 

Just  what  Perpetua  was  saying,  precisely, 
thought  Don  Abbondio,  without  reflecting  that 
that  singular  accordance  in  opinion  of  what  he 
might  and  ought  to  have  done,  between  his 
own  servant  and  Federigo  Borromeo,  was  a 
very  strong  argument  against  him. 

"But  you,"  continued  the  cardinal,  "have 
seen  nothing,  nor  have  wished  to  see  any  thing, 
but  your  own  temporal  danger ;  no  wonder  that 
it  should  have  appeared  so  great  to  you,  when 
you  have  overlooked  every  thing  else  but  it." 

"  It  is  because  I  saw  their  horrid  faces  my- 
self," Don  Abbondio  involuntarily  broke  out, 
"  it  is  because  I  heard  what  they  said  myself. 
Your  most  illustrious  excellency  talks  well, 
but,  after  all,  a  man  should  stand  in  the  shoes 
of  a  poor  priest,  and  be  brought  to  such  a 
pinch  as  that." 

Scarce  had  he  uttered  these  words,  than  he 
bit  his  tongue ;  he  perceived  that  his  vexation 
had  carried  him  too  far,  and  said  to  himself, 
now  we  shall  have  hail  stones — and  raising 
doubtfully  his  looks  to  the  cardinal,  he  was  as- 
tonished at  his  countenance,  which,  indeed,  he 
had  never  been  able  to  penetrate  and  divine, 
at  seeing  it  change  from  a  chastising  and  au- 
thoritative expression,  to  a  serious  and  thought- 
ful compunction. 

"It  is  too  true!"  said  Federigo,  "such  is 
our  wretched  and  terrible  condition.  It  is  our 
duty  to  exact  rigorously  from  others,  that 
which  God  alone  knows  whether  we  are  pre- 
pared to  do  ourselves.  It  is  our  duty  to  judge, 
to  correct,  to  reprehend,  and  God  alone  knows 
what  we  should  do  in  the  same  case,  and,  in- 
deed, that  which  we  have  done  in  similar 
cases !  But  wo  is  me  if  I  were  to  assume  my 
own  weakness  as  the  measure  of  another's 
duty,  for  the  rule  of  my  teaching.  Most  cer- 
tain it  is,  that  to  doctrine  I  must  add  my  own 
example,  and  not  live  like  the  Pharisee,  im- 
posing insupportable  burthens  on  others,  when 
tie  will  not  even  touch  them  himself.  There- 
fore, my  son  and  my  brother,  since  the  errors 
of  those  who  sit  in  command  are  often  better 
known  to  others  than  to  themselves ;  if  it  is 
known  to  you,  that  through  pusillanimity,  or 
from  any  other  motive,  I  nave  neglected  any 
part  of  my  duty,  tell  it  to  me  frankly,  let  me 
look  into  it,  so  that,  where  I  have  been  defi- 
cient in  example,  confession  may  not  be  want- 
ing. Point  out  to  me  freely  my  weaknesses,  and 
then  words  will  come  with  more  authority  from 
my  mouth,  since  you  will  feel,  in  a  more  live- 
ly manner,  that  they  are  not  my  own,  but  that 
they  come  from  the  spirit  of  him,  who  knows 
how  to  give  both  to  you  and  to  me,  the  strength 
necessary  to  do  that  which  they  enjoin." 

Oh,  what  a  holy  man  !  But  what  a  worrier 
he  is !  thought  Don  Abbondio ;  even  about  I 


himself,  he  must  be  groping,  and  meddling,  and 
criticising,  and  playing  the  inquisitor,  even 
about  himself.  "  Oh,  Monsignor!"  said  he, 
"  are  you  making  game  of  me  ?  Who  is  there 
who  is  not  acquainted  with  the  strong  heart, 
and  the  indomitable  zeal  of  your  most  illustri- 
ous excellency  ?"  Adding,  in  his  heart,  it  is 
too  much  the  case. 

"  I  did  not  seek  of  you  a  praise  that  makes 
me  tremble,"  said  Federigo,  "  for  God  knows 
my  failings,  and  those  which  are  known  to 
myself,  are  sufficient  to  confound  me.  But  I 
had  desired,  and  I  fain  would,  that  we  should 
humble  ourselves  together  before  him,  and 
confide  in  him  together.  I  should  wish,  for 
the  love  of  you,  that  you  should  feel  sensible 
what  your  conduct  has  been,  and  how  your 
speech  has  been  opposed  to  the  law  which  you 
still  teach,  and  according  to  which  you  must 
be  judged." 

"  Every  thing  is  put  upon  my  back,"  said 
Don  Abbondio ;  "  but  those  persons  who  have 
been  denouncing  me,  have  said  nothing  about 
their  getting  into  my  house  by  treachery,  to 
surprise  me,  and  trump  up  a  matrimony  con- 
trary to  the  rules." 

"  They  have  told  me  that  too,  my  son  :  but 
what  afllicts  and  frightens  me  is,  that  you  still 
try  to  excuse  yourself,  that  you  think  you  can 
excuse  yourself  by  accusing  others ;  that  you 
bring  as  an  accusation  against  others  what 
ought  to  be  a  part  of  your  own  confession . 
Who  led  them,  I  will  not  say  into  the  necessi- 
ty, but  into  the  temptation  of  doing  what  they 
did  do  ?  Would  they  have  had  recourse  to  that 
illegitimate  course,  if  the  legitimate  one  had 
not  been  closed  against  them  ?  Would  they 
have  thought  of  deceiving  their  pastor  if  he 
had  received  them  with  open  arms,  had  aided 
and  advised  them  ?  Would  they  have  sought 
for  him  if  he  had  not  concealed  himself?  And 
you  blame  them,  you  are  angry,  because  after 
so  many  distresses,  what  do  I  say,  in  the 
midst  of  their  distress,  they  have  uttered  a 
word  of  complaint  to  their,  to  your  pastor. 
That  the  appeal  of  the  oppressed,  the  com- 
plaint of  the  afflicted,  are  odious  to  the  world, 
is  too  true  ;  but  we  !  what  would  it  have  bene- 
fited you,  if  they  had  remained  silent  ?  Would 
it  have  been  an  advantage  to  you,  that  their 
whole  cause  should  have  gone  up  to  the  judg- 
ment of  God  ?  Is  it  not  an  additional  motive 
for  you  to  love  them,  (and  how  many  reasons 
you  have!)  that  they  have  afforded  you  an 
opportunity  of  hearing  the  sincere  voice  of 
your  pastor,  that  they  have  given  you  the 
means  of  ascertaining  better,  and  of  discharg- 
ing, in  part,  the  great  debt  you  owe  them  ? 
An,  if  even  they  had  given  you  any  provo- 
cation, if  they  had  offended,  had  tormented 
you,  I  would  tell  you  (and  ought  you  to  wait 
to  be  told  ?)  to  love  them  for  that  very  reason. 
Love  them  because  they  have  suffered,  be- 
cause they  still  suffer,  because  they  are  yours, 
because  they  are  weak,  because  you  stand  in 
need  of  a  pardon,  to  obtain  which,  reflect  how 
efficacious  their  prayers  may  be." 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


167 


Don  Abbondio  was  silent,  but  it  was  no 
longer  the  same  spiteful,  impersuasible  si- 
lence; he  looked  like  one  more  disposed  to 
think  than  to  talk.  The  words  which  he  had 
heard,  contained  unexpected  consequences, 
and  new  applications,  but  of  a  doctrine  long 
familiar  to  his  mind,  and  which  was  not  dis- 
puted. The  wrongs  of  another,  from  which 
Fear  for  himself  had  always  distracted  him, 
now  made  a  new  impression  upon  him ;  and 
if  he  did  not  feel  all  the  remorse  that  he  would 
have  liked  to  produce  from  the  pulpit,  (for  the 
same  fear  was  even  there  with  him,  executing 
the  office  of  an  advocate  defending  the  wrong 
side,)  still  he  felt  some  :  he  felt  a  displeasure 
at  himself,  and  a  compassion  for  others,  a  min- 
gled sentiment  of  tenderness  and  confusion. 
He  was,  if  the  comparison  be  permitted  us, 
like  the  moist  wick  of  a  candle,  which,  on  be- 
ing presented  to  the  flame  of  a  torch,  cannot 
be  made  to  light,  smoking,  fizzing,  snapping, 
but  at  last  is  inflamed,  and  burns  either  well 
or  ill.  He  would  have  accused  himself  loudly, 
and  would  have  wept,  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  thought  of  Don  Rodrigo ;  yet,  nevertheless, 
he  gave  sufficient  indications  of  being  moved, 
to  admit  of  the  cardinal's  perceiving  that  his 
words  had  not  been  spoken  in  vain. 

"  Now,"  continued  he,  "  one  of  them  a  fu- 
gitive from  his  own  house,  the  other  on  the 
point  of  abandoning  hers,  both  with  too  much 
reason  to  remain  at  a  distance,  without  any 
probability  of  their  being  again  reunited  here, 
if,  indeed,  God  designs  ever  to  reunite  them  ;  j 
now,  too  true  it  is,  they  have  no  need  of  I 
you ;  too  true  it  is  that  you  have  no  oppor-  | 
tunify  of  doing  them  any  good,  neither  can  our 
short  foresight  conjecture  any  opportunity  for 
the  future.    But  who  knows  mat  God,  ever  \ 
merciful,  may  not  be  preparing  it  ?   Ah !  let 
them  not  fly !    seek  them,  be  on  the  watch,  i 
pray  to  him  that  he  may  find  you  one." 

"  I  will  not  fail,  Monsignor,  I  will  not  fail, 
truly,"  replied  Don  Abbondio,  with  a  tone  of 
voice  that  seemed  to  come  from  his  heart. 

"  Yes,  my  son,  yes,"  replied  Federigo,  and 
with  a  dignity  full  of  affection,  he  concluded, 
"  heaven  knows  how  I  should  have  preferred 
to  hold  conversations  of  another  kind  with 
you.  We  have  bom  of  us  lived  a  long  time, 
and  God  knows  how  hard  it  has  been  for  me 
to  visit  your  grey  hairs  with  reproof,  how 
much  more  pleased  I  should  have  been  to  con- 
sole myself  with  you  about  our  common  cares, 
and  our  sins,  in  talking  of  the  blessed  hope  to 
which  we  are  already  drawing  so  near.  May 
God  grant  that  what  I  have  said  to  you  may 
be  both  for  your  advantage  and  mine.  Do  you 
not  think  that  he  will  demand  an  account  of 
me,  upon  the  great  day,  for  having  kept  you 
in  an  office  to  which  you  have  so  unfortunate- 
ly been  found  wanting.  Let  us  redeem  the 
time ;  midnight  draws  nigh ;  the  bridegroom 
is  coming;  let  us  keep  our  lamps  burning. 
Let  us  present  our  hearts  to  God,  miserable 
and  empty,  that  he  may  be  pleased  to  fill 
them  with  that  charity  which  corrects  the 


past,  which  assures  the  future,  which  fears  and 
trusts,  weeps  and  is  cheerful.  Let  us  pray 
that  he  will  give  us  wisdom ;  that  it  may  be- 
come, in  every  case,  the  wisdom  of  which  we 
stand  in  need." 

Having  said  this,  he  moved,  and  Don  Ab- 
bondio followed  him. 

Here  our  anonymous  author  informs  us 
that  this  was  not  the  only  interview  of  this 
kind  which  these  two  personages  had,  nor 
Lucia  the  sole  object  of  their  conversation,  but 
that  he  has  confined  himself  to  this,  that  he 
might  not  wander  too  much  from  the  princi- 
pal story.  And  for  the  same  reason,  he  omits 
to  mention  other  notable  matters,  and  acts,  and 
sayings  of  Federigo  in  the  whole  course  of  his 
visitation  ;  his  liberalities,  quarrels  reconciled, 
ancient  rancors  composed  between  individuals, 
families,  and  whole  districts,that  had  either  aba- 
ted, or,  as  was  most  frequently  the  case,  were 
slumbering;  nor  of  the  petty  tyrants  and  their 
bullies  that  he  had  quieted  for  life,  or  at  least 
for  some  time :  circumstances  that  occurred 
more  or  less  in  every  part  of  the  diocese, 
where  that  excellent  man  made  any  stay. 

He  goes  on  then  to  say,  that  the  following 
morning,  Donna  Prasede  came,  according  to 
agreement  to  receive  Lucia,  and  to  pay  her  com- 
pliments to  the  cardinal,  who  praised  her,  and 
recommended  her  warmly  to  her  care.  Lucia 
tore  herself  from  her  mother,  with  m&ny  tears, 
and  again  left  her  cottage,  bidding,  for  the  se- 
cond time,  adieu  to  her  village,  with  that  sense 
of  double  bitterness  which  is  felt  when  one 
leaves  a  place  most  cherished  of  all,  and 
where  one  can  no  longer  be  happy.  But 
this  was  not  the  last  parting  from  her  mother, 
for  Donna  Prasede  had  announced  that  she 
should  remain  a  few  days  longer  at  her  villa, 
which  was  not  far  from  there ;  and  Agnes  pro- 
mised her  daughter  to  go  once  more,  and  ex- 
change their  more  sad  and  final  adieus. 

The  cardinal  was  also  preparing  to  go  to 
another  parish,  when  the  curate  of  mat  where 
the  casue  of  the  Un-named  was  situated, 
arrived,  and  requested  to  speak  to  him.  Being 
admitted,  he  oresented  a  purse  and  a  letter 
from  that  nobleman,  intreating  Federigo  to 
induce  Lucia's  mother  to  accept  a  hundred 
gold  crowns  that  were  in  the  purse,  as  a  dow- 
er for  the  young  maiden,  or  for  any  use  that 
might  seen*  proper  to  them  both.  He  request  • 
ed  him  also  to  tell  them,  that  if  at  any  tim*>, 
they  had  reason  to  suppose  he  could  render 
them  a  service,  the  poor  maid  knew  too  well 
where  he  resided,  and  that  he  should  ardently 
seize  upon  the  opportunity  to  be  useful  to 
them.  The  cardinal  immediately  caused 
Agnes  to  be  called,  and  told  her  the  commis- 
sion he  was  charged  with,  which  she  listened 
to  with  equal  surprise  and  satisfaction.  He 
presented  her  the  purse,  which  she,  without 
much  ceremony,  permitted  him  to  put  into 
her  hand,  saying,  "  May  God  reward  him, 
and  please  your  most  illustrious  excellency  to 
thank  him  ever  so  much.  And  don't  say  any 
thing  to  any  body,  for  this  is  a  kind  of  place— 


163 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


Excuse  me — you  see — I  know  that  one  like 
vou  does  not  go  gossiping  about  things  of  this 
kind,  but — your  excellency  understands  me." 

Gently  she  went  home,  shut  herself  up  in 
her  room,  untied  the  purse,  and  although 
somewhat  prepared,  beheld  with  admiration, 
all  in  a  heap,  and  in  her  own  possession,  all 
those  bright  pieces,  such  as  she  had  never 
seen  before  more  than  one  at  a  time,  and  that 
being  rarely.  She  counted  them,  took  a  great 
deal  of  pains  to  put  them  together,  and  to 
make  the  whole  hundred  stay  one  on  the  top 
of  the  other,  for  every  now  and  then  the  heap 
burst  and  they  would  slip  through  her  fingers. 
At  last  having  made  a  rouleau  of  them  as  well 
as  she  could,  she  put  them  in  a  linen  rag,  and 
having  tied  them  well  up  with  a  piece  of 
string,  she  hid  them  away  in  a  corner  of  her 
straw  bed.  During  the  remainder  of  the  day, 
she  did  nothing  out  revolve  in  her  mind 
designs  for  the  future,  and  sigh  for  the  mor- 
row. Having  got  into  bed,  she  remained  some 
time  awake,  thinking  of  the  hundred  bedfel- 
lows she  haul  beneath  her;  and  when  she  got 
a  sleep,  she  saw  them  in  her  dreams.  At  the 
dawning  of  day,  she  rose,  and  took  the  road 
to  the  villa  where  Lucia  was. 

She,  on  her  side,  although  her  reluctance  to 
speak  of  her  vow  was  not  at  all  diminished, 
still  had  resolved  to  overcome  it,  and  to  unbo- 
som herself  to  her  mother,  in  that  conversa- 
tion, which  for  a  long  time  was  to  be  the 
last. 

Scarce  were  they  alone,  when  Agnes,  with 
an  animated  countenance,  and  an  under  tone 
of  voice,  as  if  any  one  had  been  present 
whom  she  did  not  wish  to  over  hear  her,  be- 
gan, "  I  have  a  great  thing  to  tell  thee  of," 
and  went  on  communicating  to  her  the  unex- 
pected adventure. 

"May  God  bless  him,"  said  Lucia,  "you 
will  now  be  able  to  be  comfortable,  and  to  do 
some  good  to  others." 

"How!"  answered  Agnes,  "dost  thou  not 
perceive  how  many  things  we  can  do  with  all 
this  money  ?  Listen,  I  nave  no  one  but  thee, 
but  you  two,  I  can  say.  for  Renzo,  since  I  am 
talking  of  it,  I  have  always  looked  upon  as  my 
own  son.  The  matter  is,  if  some  misfortune 
has  not  befallen  him,  since  he  does  not  send 
us  word  even  that  he  is  alive.  But — bless 
me,  every  thing  can't  go  wrong.  Let  us  hope 
not,  let  us  hope  not.  For  myself,  I  should 
have  been  glad  to  have  left  my  bones  in  my  own 
country,  but  since  thou  cans't  not  remain 
there  on  account  of  that  scoundrel,  and  even 
the  thought  of  his  being  so  nigh,  all  make  my 
country  a  bitter  residence  to  me,  and  with 
you  both  I  can  be  happy  any  where.  I  was 
from  that  time  disposed  to  go  with  you  both, 
even  to  the  end  of  the  world,  and  I  have 
always  been  ready  to  do  it,  but  without  mo- 
ney, what  is  to  be  done  ?  Dost  thou  under- 
stand now  ?  The  little  matter  that  poor  young 
fellow  had  laid  away  with  so  much  pains  and 
economy,  justice  is  come  and  has  made  free 
"nth ;  but  to  compensate,  the  Lord  has  sent 


fortune  to  us.  As  soon,  then,  as  he  has 
found  out  the  way  to  let  us  know  he  is  alive, 
and  what  his  intentions  are,  I  will  come  for 
thee  to  Milan,  I  will  come  and  take  thee.  In 
old  times  I  should  have  thought  twice  about 
that,  but  misfortune  makes  one  dexterous,  and 
clever.  I  have  been  as  far  as  Monza,  and  I 
know  what  it  is  to  travel.  I  will  take  with 
me  a  proper  man,  a  relation,  such  a  one  for 
instance  as  Alessio  di  Maggianico,  for  to  tell 
the  truth,  there  is  not  such  a  proper  man  in 
the  village.  I  will  come  with  him — the  ex- 
penses of  course  we  shall  pay,  and — dost 
thou  comprehend. —  " 

But  perceiving  that,  instead  of  being  pleas- 
ed, Lucia  was  becoming  melancholy,  and 
gave  evidence  of  a  tender  distress  that  admitt- 
ed of  no  consolation,  she  interrupted  her  har- 
rangue,  and  said  "  but  what's  the  matter  with 
thee  ?  did  any  body  ever  see  ?" 

"Poor  mamma!"  exclaimed  Lucia,  throw- 
ing one  arm  round  her  neck,  and  resting  her 
weeping  head  on  her  bosom. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  anxiously  asked  the 
mother  once  more. 

"  I  ought  to  have  told  you  before,"  said 
Lucia,  raising  and  composing  her  features, 
"  but  I  had  not  the  heart  to  do  it  Pity  me  !" 

"  But  speak  out  then." 

"  I  can  no  more  be  the  wife  of  that  poor 
young  man." 

"  How  ?  what  ?" 

Lucia,  with  her  head  hung  down,  her 
breast  heaving,  and  weeping  without  shedding 
tears,  like  one  communicating  a  thing,  at 
once  a  misfortune  and  immutable  in  its  nature, 
revealed  her  vow,  joining  her  hands  at  the 
same  time  and  asking  pardon  of  her  mother, 
for  having  concealed  it  until  then.  She  be- 
seeched  her  not  to  speak  of  the  circumstance 
to  any  living  soul,  and  to  aid  her  to  facilitate 
the  fulfilment  of  what  she  had  promised. 

Agnes  was  stupified  and  full  of  consterna- 
tion. She  wished  to  cbmplain  of  the  silence 
observed  towards  her,  but  the  grave  thoughts 
appertaining  to  the  case,  kept  down  her  per- 
sonal vexation.  She  wished  to  reprove  her 
for  the  act,  but  it  seemed  to  her  like  flying  in 
the  face  of  Heaven,  and  still  more  when  Lucia 
described  to  her  again,  in  a  more  feeling  man- 
ner than  ever,  the  night  she  had  passed,  the 
dark  desolation  that  hung  over  her,  and  the 
unexpected  safety  into  which  she  was  brought ; 
it  was  during  these  moments  that  her  pro- 
mise had  been  given,  so  expressly,  and  with 
so  much  solemnity.  Agnes,  meanwhile,  called 
up  to  her  own  memory,  various  examples, 
whi«h  she  had  often  heard  related,  and  which 
she  had  herself  told  to  her  daughter,  of  strange 
and  terrible  punishments  that  had  fallen  upon 
those  who  had  violated  their  vows  to  the  vir- 
gin. After  remaining  some  time  in  this  kind 
of  astonishment,  she  said,  "  and  now,  what 
dost  thou  mean  to  do  ?" 

"  Now,"  answered  Lucia,  "  it  is  the  Lord 
who  must  decide;  the  Lord  and  the  virgin. 
I  have  put  myself  into  their  hands,  they  have 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


169 


not  abandoned  me  up  to  this  time,  and  they 
will  not  abandon  me  now  that— The  favor  that 
I  ask  for  myself  of  the  Lord,  the  only  favor  af- 
ter my  soul's  happiness,  is,  that  he  suffer  me 
to  return  to  you, -and  he  will  grant  it  to  tne,  he 
will  grant  it  to  me.  That  day — in  that  car- 
riage— ah,  most  holy  Virgin ! — those  men ! — 
who  would  have  said  that  they  were  taking  me 
to  him,  who  would  conduct  me  to  where  I 
should  be  with  you  the  following  day  ?" 

"  But  not  to  tell  your  own  mother  immedi- 
ately!" said  Agnes,  still  somewhat  piqued, 
but  in  a  tone  of  tenderness  and  compassion. 

"  Pity  me,  I  had  not  the  heart — of  what  use 
was  it  to  afflict  you  before  hand  ?" 

"And  Renzo?"  said  Agnes,  shaking  her 
head. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Lucia,  jumping  up  im- 
mediately, "I  must  think  no  more  of  that 
poor  youth.  God,  indeed,  had  not  destined 
us — only  see  how  it  looks  as  if  he  intended  to 
keep  us  separated.  And  who  knows  ? — but 
no,  no :  the  Lord  will  have  preserved  him 
from  dangers,  and  will  make  him  still  more 
happy  without  me." 

"  But,  nevertheless,"  replied  Agnes,  "  if  it 
had  not  been  that  thou  hast  bounu  thyself  for 
ever,  as  to  that,  if  no  misfortune  had  happened 
to  Renzo,  now  we  have  that  money,  I  had 
found  a  remedy." 

"But  that  money,"  replied  Lucia,  "how 
would  it  have  come,  if  I  had  not  passed  that 
night  ?  And  the  Lord,  who  has  willed  that  every 
thing  should  happen  thus,  may  his  will  be 
done."  And  her  words  died  amidst  her  tears. 
At  this  unexpected  argument,  Agnes  re- 
mained thoughtful.  After  some  time,  Lucia, 
restraining  her  sobs,  continued,  "  now  that  the 
thing  is  done,  we  must  adapt  ourselves  to  it  in 
good  heart,  and  you,  poor  mamma,  you  can 
aid  me,  first,  in  praying  the  Lord  for  your 
daughter,  and  then — it  is  very  necessary  that 
poor  youth  should  be  informed  of  it.  Think 
of  it,  have  this  kindness  for  me,  for  you  may 
think  about  him.  When  you  have  found  out 
where  he  is,  let  him  be  written  to,  find  a  man — 
your  cousin  Alessio,  exactly,  he  is  a  prudent 
and  charitable  person ;  he  has  always  wished 
us  well,  and  will  not  talk  to  every  body  about 
it.  Get  him  to  write  to  him  to  tell  the  affair 
just  as  it  has  happened ;  how  I  have  suffered, 
and  that  God  has  willed  it  so,  and  that  he  must 
let  his  heart  be  in  peace,  and  that  I  can  never, 
never  belong  to  any  body.  And  make  him 
understand  it  in  a  kind  way,  explain  to  him 
how  I  have  promised,  and  that  I  have  even 
made  a  vow — when  he  knows  that  I  have 
vowed  to  the  virgin — he  has  always  been  a 
worthy  youth — and  you,  the  first  news  you 
have  from  him,  write  to  me,  let  me  know  that 
he  is  well — and  then — never  let  me  know  any 
thing  more  about  him." 

Agnes,  moved  with  tenderness,  assured  her 
daughter  that  every  thing  should  be  done  as 
she  wished. 

"  I  wanted,  also,  to  say  something  more  to 
you,"  said  Lucia ;  "  that  poor  youth,  if  he  had 
22 


not  had  the  misfortune  to  think  of  me,  this 
would  never  have  happened  to  him.  He  is 
wandering  in  the  world,  they  have  broke  up 
his  occupation,  they  have  taken  his  property 
away,  the  savings  that  he  had  made,  you  know 
why — and  we  have  so  much  money '  Oh, 
mamma  !  since  the  Lord  has  sent  us  so  much 
wealth,  and  that  poor  young  man,  for  it  is 
quite  true  that  you  looked  upon  him  as  yours, 
just  as  if  he  were  your  own  son.  Oh,  let  us 
divide  the  money  with  him,  for  certainly  God 
will  never  let  us  want.  Seek  for  an  opportu- 
nity by  some  trust-worthy  man,  and  send  it  to 
him,  for  Heaven  knows  how  much  he  stands 
in  need  of  it." 

"Well?  Why,  what  do  you  think  of  me  ?" 
replied  Agnes,  "  I  will  do  so  in  truth.  Poor 
young  fellow !  What  didst  thou  think  I  was 
so  content  for,  because  that  money  had  come  ? 
But — I  really  came  here  quite  full  of  content, 
I  did.  Well,  I'll  send  it  to  him ;  poor  young 
man  !  But  he,  too — I  know  what  I  am  saying, 
certainly  money  always  gives  people  pleasure 
when  they  are  in  want  of  it,  but  this  is  money 
that  won't  make  him  happy,  I  am  sure." 

Lucia  returned  thanks  to  her  mother  for  her 
ready  and  liberal  kindness,  with  a  gratitude 
and  affection,  that  would  have  induced  any 
one  who  had  observed  her,  to  suppose  that  her 
heart  still  felt  some  interest  for  Renzo ;  more, 
perhaps,  than  she  herself  suspected. 

"  And  without  thee,  what  shall  I  do,  poor 
wretched  woman  ?"  said  Agnes,  weeping  in 
her  turn. 

"And  me,  without  you,  my  poor  mamma? 
And  in  a  house  with  strangers  ?  And  down  there 
in  that  Milan  !— But  the  Lord  will  remain  with 
us  both,  and  will  unite  us  again.  In  eight  or 
nine  months  we  shall  see  each  other  here  again, 
and  during  that  time,  and  even  before  it  is 
over,  I  hope  he  will  have  ordered  every  thing 
for  our  consolation.  Let  us  leave  him  to  act. 
I  shall  always  ask  the  Madonna  to  grant  me 
this  favor.  If  I  had  any  thing  else  to  offer 
her,  I  would  do  it,  but  she  is  so  merciful,  that 
she  will  grant  it  to  me." 

With  these  oft  repeated  words  of  grief,  and 
comfort,  regret,  and  resignation ;  with  requests 
and  assurances  of  secrecy,  and  with  many 
tears,  after  long  and  renewed  embraces,  the 
mother  and  daughter  separated,  mutually  pro- 
mising to  meet  again  the  succeeding  autumn, 
at  the  latest :  as  if  it  depended  upon  them  to 
do  so,  and  as  people  usually  do  in  similar 
cases. 

Meanwhile  time  kept  rolling  on,  without 
Agnes  being  able  to  get  any  intelligence  of 
Renzo.  Neither  letters,  nor  messages  of  any 
kind  came  from  him  :  of  all  the  people  of  the 
district  and  the  neighboring  country,  of  whom 
she  made  inquiries,  no  one  could  give  her  the 
least  information. 

Nor  was  she  the  only  person  that  vainly 
made  these  inquiries.  The  Cardinal  Federigo, 
who  had  not  promised  these  poor  women 
merely  for  form's  sake,  that  he  would  endeavor 
to  get  intelligence  of  the  youth,  had,  in  fact, 


170 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


immediately  written  to  that  effect.  Being  re- 
turned from  his  visitation  to  Milan,  be  had  re- 
ceived an  answer,  in  which  it  was  stated,  that 
no  information  could  be  obtained  of  the  per- 
son inquired  for ;  that  he  had,  indeed,  been  a 
short  time  in  the  country,  where  he  had  done 
nothing  to  attract  observation,  but  that  one 
morning  he  had  suddenly  disappeared.  That 
a  relation,  of  his,  who  had  entertained  him 
there,  did  not  know  what  had  become  of  him, 
and  could  only  state  the  various  and  contradic- 
tory reports  that  were  circulating  about  him  ; 
one  that  he  had  enlisted  to  go  to  the  Levant, 
another  that  he  had  gone  to  Germany,. and  one 
that  he  had  perished  in  crossing  a  river :  that 
they  would  keep  on  the  look  out,  and  if  any 
thing  more  precise  should  transpire  respecting 
him,  they  would  immediately  apprise  his  most 
illustrious  and  most  reverend  excellency. 

Later  still,  these  and  other  reports  were 
spread  about  in  the  territory  of  Lecco,  and 
consequently  came  to  the  ears  of  Agnes.  The 
poor  woman  did  her  best  to  get  at  the  truth, 
and  to  reach  the  bottom  of  all  of  them,  but  she 
was  not  able  to  get  a  whit  beyond  that  great 
authority — People  say  so— which  even  in  our 
own  days,  is  esteemed  quite  sufficient  for  so 
many  great  matters.  Sometimes,  before  one 
story  had  been  cleverly  told  to  her,  some  other 
person  came  and  asserted  that  there  was  not  a 
word  of  truth  in  it,  but  by  way  of  compensa- 
tion began  another  equally  strange  and  unwel- 
come. All  of  them  were  pure  gossiping.  The 
fact  was  thus. 

The  governor  of  Milan,  and  captain  general 
of  Italy,  Don  Gonzalo  Fernandez  di  Cordova, 
had  expressed  a  good  deal  of  resentment  to  the 
Venetian  resident  at  Milan,  because  a  brigand, 
a  public  thief,  an  abettor  in  saccage  and  kill- 
ing of  people,  the  well  known  Lorenzo  Tra- 
maglino,  wno,  when  even  in  the  hands  of  jus- 
tice, had  excited  an  insurrection,  in  order  to 
escape  through  violence,  had  been  harbored 
and  received  in  the  Bergamasc  territory.  The 
resident  had  replied  that  he  knew  nothing  of 
the  fact,  but  that  he  would  write  to  Venice, 
that  he  might  be  able  to  communicate  to  his 
Excellency  such  an  explanation  of  the  affair  as 
he  might  be  possessed  of. 

At  Venice,  they  had  for  a  maxim  to  favor 
and  cultivate  the  inclination  of  the  Milanese 
operatives  in  silk,  to  transplant  themselves 
into  the  Begamasc  territory,  and  there  enable 
them  to  find  many  advantages,  especially  that 
one,  without  which  all  others  are  insufficient, 
security.  But  as  between  two  great  litigants, 
something,  however  small,  will  always  fall  to 
the  share  of  a  third  person,  so  Bortolo  was  con- 
fidentially informed,  by  whom  no  one  knows, 
that  Rcnzo  was  not  safe  where  he  was,  and 
that  he  would  act  wisely  in  going  to  some  other 
filature,  and  even  in  changing  his  name  for 
some  time.  Bortolo  understood  this  kind  of 
latin,  offered  DO  objections,  but  explained 
the  thing  to  his  cousin,  and  taking  him  with 
him  in  a  calash,  placed  him  in  another  new 
filature,  distant  from  the  other  about  fifteen 


miles,  and  presented  him  there  to  the  proprie- 
tor, who  was  also  a  native  of  the  state  of  Milan, 
and  an  old  acquaintance  of  his,  under  the  name 
of  Antonio  Kivalto.  Notwithstanding  the 
scarcity  of  the  times,  the  proprietor  did  not 
hesitate  to  receive  a  workman  who  was  recom- 
mended to  him  as  both  honest  and  intelligent, 
from  a  man  of  worth.  After  trying  him,  he 
was  entirely  satisfied  with  his  acquisition,  ex- 
cept that  at  the  beginning  it  seemed  to  him 
that  the  young  man  must  be  very  dull  by  na- 
ture, for  when  they  called  out  Antonio,  half 
the  time  he  never  answered. 

A  short  time  after,  orders  were  received 
from  Venice  by  the  captain  of  Bergamo, 
couched  in  a  calm  tone,  that  he  should  collect 
and  transmit  information,  if  in  his  jurisdiction, 
and  especially  in  such  a  parish,  the  person 
named  was  to  be  found.  The  captain,  having 
made  the  official  inquiries,  in  the  manner  he 
comprehended  it  was  wished  for  him  to  do, 
sent  back  a  reply  in  the  negative,  which  was 
transmitted  to  the  resident  in  Milan,  who  com- 
municated it  to  Don  Gonzalo  Fernandez  di 
Cordova. 

There  were  some  inquisitive  people,  how- 
ever, who  wanted  to  know  from  Bortolo,  why 
that  young  man  was  no  longer  in  his  employ- 
ment, and  where  he  was  gone.  To  the  first 
inquiry  he  answered,  "  Oh  !  he  has  disappear- 
ed." And  in  order  to  appease  those  who 
were  most  persevering,  without  awakening  in 
them  any  suspicion  of  the  truth,  he  amused 
them,  first  one  and  then  the  other,  with  the  re- 
ports we  have  alluded  to,  but  as  things  quite 
uncertain,  which  he  had  only  heard  himself, 
without  having  any  positive  information  about. 

But  when  the  inquiry  was  made  of  him 
through  a  commission  from  the  cardinal,  with- 
out naming  him,  and  with  a  certain  air  of  mys- 
tery and  importance,  giving  it  to  be  under- 
stood that  it  was  made  in  the  name  of  a  great 
personage,  Bortolo  became  still  more  scrupu- 
lous, and  deemed  it  necessary  to  adhere  to  his 
own  method  of  answering  such  inquiries.  In- 
deed, considering  it  was  for  the  information  of 
a  great  personage,  he  thought  it  best  to  com- 
municate all  together  the  various  inventions- 
that  he  had  struck  off  one  by  one  at  different 
periods. 

It  must  not  be  thought,  however,  that  Don 
Gonzalo,  a  nobleman  of  such  high  character, 
really  had  any  personal  spite  against  a  poor 
silk  spinner  of  the  mountains ;  or  that,  perhaps, 
having  been  informed  of  the  irreverence  ob- 
served, and  the  disrespectful  words  said  by 
him,  of  his  Moorish  king  chained  by  the 
throat,  he  wanted  to  take  revenge  on  that  ac- 
count ;  or  that  he  believed  him  so  dangerous  a 
subject  that  he  must  be  pursued  even  whilst 
he  was  flying,  and  that  he  must  not  be  per- 
mitted to  live  even  when  he  was  at  a  dis- 
tance, as  the  Roman  senate  acted  in  the  case 
of  Hannibal.  Don  Gonzalo  had  too  many 
great  things  in  his  head  to  agitate  himself 
about  Renzo's  conduct,  and  if  it  has  the  ap- 
pearance of  being  so,  it  arose  from  a  singular 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


concurrence  of  circumstances,  through  the  in- 
fluence of  which,  the  poor  fellow,  without 
meaning  it,  or  without  knowing  it,  then  or  at 
any  other  time,  found  himself,  by  a  subtle  and 
invisible  thread,  involved  in  these  too  many 
great  things. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

MORE  than  once  we  have  had  occasion  to 
mention  the  war  that  was  in  agitation  respect- 
ing the  succession  to  the  states  of  the  Duke 
Vincenzo  Gonzaga,  the  second  of  that  name, 
but  it  has  always  been  done  when  we  were  in 
a  very  great  hurry,  so  that  we  have  never  been 
able  to  give  more  than  a  flying  hint  about  it. 
Now,  however,  for  the  understanding  of  our 
narrative,  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  give  a 
more  particular  relation  of  it.  These  are  mat- 
ters that  whoever  has  any  pretension  to  histo- 
ry, must  be  acquainted  with :  but  as  from  a 
sentiment  of  our  true  position  in  the  scale  of 
importance,  we  cannot  suppose  this  work  will 
be  read  by  any  but  the  ignorant,  so  there  will 
be  no  harm  in  just  saying  as  much  as  will  give 
every  one  a  sprinkling  of  information  who  may 
stand  in  need  of  it. 

We  have  said  that  at  the  death  of  that  duke, 
the  first  called  in  lineal  succession,  was  Carlo 
Gonzaga,  head  of  a  younger  branch  transplant- 
ed into  France,  where  he  possessed  the  duch- 
ies of  Nevers  and  Rhetel.  He  entered  into 
possession  of  Mantua,  and  now  we  add  of 
Monferrato,  which  in  our  great  hurry  we  had 
omitted.  The  minister  of  Spain,  who  was 
anxious  at  any  cost  whatever  (we  have  stated 
this  too)  to  exclude  the  new  prince  from  these 
two  feuds,  and  who  to  exclude  him,  found  it 
necessary  to  proceed  upon  the  right  of  some 
other,  (for  wars  entered  into  without  some 
cause  of  this  kind  would  be  unjust)  had  de- 
clared himself  the  supporter  of  the  right,  that 
another  Gonzaga,  Fen-ante,  the  prince  of 
Guastalla,  pretended  to  have  upon  Mantua; 
and  that  wnich  Charles  Emanuel  I,  duke  of 
Savoy,  and  Margaret  Gonzaga,  the  widow 
duchess  of  Lorraine,  had  upon  Montferrat. 
Don  Gonzalo,  who  belonged  to  the  house  of 
the  great  captain,*  and  who  bore  his  name,  had 
made  war  in  Flanders,  and  being  extremely 
anxious  to  wage  one  in  Italy,  was  perhaps  the 
man  who  most  fomented  this  dispute,  in  order 
that  it  might  be  undertaken.  In  the  mean- 
time, interpreting  the  intentions,  and  antici- 
pating the  orders  of  the  minister,  he  had  con- 
cluded with  the  duke  of  Savoy  a  treaty  of 
invasion  and  partition  of  the  Montferrato,  and 
had  easily  obtained  the  subsequent  ratification 
of  it  by  the  count  duke,  persuading  him  that 
it  would  not  be  difficult  to  get  possession  of 
Casale,  the  best  defended  point  in  the  share 

*  Don  Gonsalvo  di  Cordova. 


allotted  to  the  king  of  Spain.  He  protested, 
however,  in  his  name,  that  there  was  no  inten- 
tion to  occupy  the  country  but  as  a  deposita- 
ry, until  the  decision  of  the  emperor,  who, 
moved  by  the  instigations  partly  of  others, 
and  partly  for  his  own  reasons,  had,  in  the 
meantime,  denied  the  investiture  to  the  new 
duke,  intimating  to  him  his  desire  that  the  ter- 
ritories in  dispute  should  be  left  in  his  hands, 
until  the  claims  had  been  heard  by  him,  when 
they  would  be  restored  to  whom  they  belong- 
ed. To  this  the  duke  of  Neveis  would  not 
assent. 

This  prince  had,  also,  some  powerful  friends : 
the  Cardinal  Richelieu,  Venice,  and  the  Pope. 
The  first  of  these,  engaged  at  that  period  in 
carrying  on  the  siege  of  Rochelle,  and  in  a 
war  with  England,  thwarted  also  by  the  party 
attached  to  Mary  de  Medicis,  the  queen  mo- 
ther, who,  for  some  particular  reasons,  was 
adverse  to  the  Duke  of  Nevers,  could  give  no- 
thing but  hopes.  The  Venetians  would  nei- 
ther move  nor  declare  themselves  before  a 
French  army  had  fallen  upon  Italy,  and  assist- 
ing the  Duke  in  an  underhand  way,  as  well  as 
they  could,  contented  themselves  with  making 
protests,  propositions,  and  exhortations,  friend- 
ly or  hostile,  according  to  the  occasion,  to  the 
court  of  Madrid,  and  the  governor  of  Milan. 
Urban  VIII,  recommended  the  Duke  of  Ne- 
vers to  his  friends,  interceded  in  his  favor 
with  his  adversaries,  and  made  propositions 
for  a  reconciliation ;  but  he  would  listen  to 
none  about  taking  the  field. 

The  two  allies  were  able,  therefore,  with 
greater  security,  to  commence  their  concerted 
enterprise.  Charles  Emanuel,  on  his  side, 
had  entered  Montferrat;  Don  Gonzalo  with 
great  alacrity,  had  laid  seige  to  Casale,  but 
without  finding  matters  as  encouraging  as  he 
had  promised  to  himself,  for  there  are  things 
besides  roses  to  be  gathered  in  war.  The 
court  did  not  assist  him  for  a  long  time,  with 
all  the  means  that  he  asked  for :  his  ally  was 
even  too  active,  for  having  taken  possession  of 
his  own  share,  he  went  on  taking  also  the  part 
that  had  been  assigned  to  the  king  of  Spain. 
Don  Gonzalo  was  as  furious  as  can  be  con- 
ceived ;  but  fearing,  that  if  he  made  the  least 
noise,  the  duke  of  Savoy,  as  active  in  negoci- 
ations  and  as  inconstant  in  treaties,  as  he  was 
renowned  in  arms,  would  go  over  to  the  French 
side,  he  therefore  was  obliged  to  shut  his 
eyes,  to  bite  the  curb,  and  keep  up  appear- 
ances. The  siege,  too,  went  on  badly,  was 
protracted  too  long,  and  made  little  progress, 
owing  to  the  bold  and  resolute  face  which  the 
besieged  put  on,  as  well  as  to  his  forces  not 
being  sufficiently  numerous ;  and  as  some 
chroniclers  have  said,  to  the  great  number  of 
mistakes  he  made.  In  relation  to  which  we 
leave  the  truth  where  it  is,  disposed,  even  if 
the  things  were  really  so,  to  believe  that  his 
conduct  was  so  far  admirable  at  least,  if  it  was 
the  occasion  of  there  being  fewer  persons 
killed,  mutilated,  and  lamed,  and  ceteris  pari- 
bus,  even  only  if  there  were  less  damage  done 


172 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


to  the  roofs  of  Casale.  In  the  midst  of  these 
troubles,  news  was  brought  to  him  of  the  in- 
surrection at  Milan,  which  induced  him  to  go 
there  in  person. 

There,  in  the  account  which  was  given  to 
him,  mention  was  also  made  of  the  night  of 
Renzo,  which  had  created  so  much  noise,  and 
of  the  true  and  supposed  causes  of  his  arrest ; 
he  was  also  informed  that  the  rebel  had  taken 
refuge  in  the  territory  of  Bergamo.  This  cir- 
cumstance arrested  the  attention  of  Don  Gon- 
zalo.  He  had  been  previously  informed,  that 
the  Venetians  had  appeared  much  animated 
by  the  insurrection  of  Milan,  that  they  con- 
sidered he  would  be  obliged  to  raise  the  siege 
of  Casale,  and  that  it  was  generally  supposed 
he  had  become  serious  and  desponding :  and 
the  more,  because  soon  after  the  news  of  the 
insurrection,  they  had  received  the  intelligence 
so  ardently  desired  by  them,  and  so  much 
dreaded  by  him,  of  the  surrender  of  Rochelle. 
Feeling  extremely  displeased,  as  a  man  and  a 
politician,  that  the  oligarchs  of  Venice  should 
conceive  so  unfavorable  an  opinion  of  his  af- 
fairs, he  sought  every  opportunity  to  change 
their  opinions,  and  to  persuade  them,  by  in- 
duction, that  he  had  lost  nothing  of  his  ancient 
resolution,  since  the  saying  explicitly — I  am 
not  afraid — is  just  saying  nothing  at  all.  An 
excellent  way  is,  to  appear  to  be  disgusted,  to 
make  complaints,  and  to  expostulate :  where- 
fore the  Venetian  resident  having  called  to 
make  his  compliments,  and  to  fish  out,  through 
his  countenance  and  deportment,  what  was 
passing  in  him  internally,  (mark  these  poli- 
tics of  the  old  school ! )  Don  Gonzalo  spoke 
of  the  tumult  lightly,  like  a  man  who  had  al- 
ready arranged  every  thing,  and  then  entered 
upon  the  affair  of  Renzo,  the  conclusion  of 
wjiich  has  been  already  spoken  of.  After 
which,  he  gave  himself  no  further  trouble 
about  so  minute  an  affair,  which,  as  far 
as  he  was  concerned,  was  terminated ;  and 
when,  some  time  after,  the  answer  came  to 
the  camp  at  Casale,  where  he  had  returned, 
and  where  he  had  something  else  to  think  of, 
he  threw  his  head  up  and  down  as  a  silkworm 
does  when  it  is  looking  for  the  mulberry  leaves, 
and  stopped  a  moment,  to  recall,  in  a  more 
lively  manner  to  his  memory,  a  fact  of  which 
he  retained  but  a  very  faint  image :  he,  how- 
ever, remembered  (he  affair,  and  even  had  a 
fugitive  and  faint  idea  of  the  person  concern- 
ed, but  he  soon  went  to  something  else,  and 
thought  no  more  of  it. 

But  Renzo,  who,  from  the  peep  he  had 
been  permitted  to  take  in  the  clouds,  had  rea- 
son to  expect  any  thing  but  such  a  benevolent 
indifference  about  himself,  remained  for  a 
while  without  any  other  thought,  or  to  speak 
more  plainly,  any  other  study,  than  how  to 
conceal  himself.  He  made  great  efforts  to 
send  some  information  to  the  two  females,  and 
to  get  some  back  again,  but  there  were  two 
great  difficulties  in  the  way.  One,  that  it 
would  have  been  necessary  for  him  to  confide 
in  a  secretary,  for  the  poor  lad  neither  knew 


how  to  read  nor  to  write,  in  the  extensive  sense 
of  the  word  ;  and  if,  when  he  was  interrogated 
as  to  that  point,  as  it  may  be  remembered,  by 
the  Doctor  Azzecca-garbugli,  he  had  answered 
yes,  it  really  was  not  a  boast,  nor  a  piece  of 
romance,  as  we  say,  but  was  really  true,  for 
give  him  but  a  little  time,  and  he  could  read 
what  was  printed ;  as  to  writing,  that  is  quite 
another  affair.  He  was  then  obliged  to  let  a 
third  party  into  his  interest,  and  into  the  parti- 
cipation of  such  a  jealous  secret :  now  it  was 
a  difficult  thing  for  him  to  find  a  person  who 
knew  how  to  write,  and  in  whom  he  could  at 
the  same  time  confide :  in  those  times  such  a 
person  was  not  easily  found,  and  it  was  the 
less  easy  for  him  in  a  country  where  he  was 
without  any  old  acquaintances.  The  next  dif- 
ficulty was  to  get  a  messenger,  a  man  who  was 
going  exactly  into  those  parts,  who  would  take 
charge  of  the  letter,  and  would  really  under- 
take to  deliver  it :  these,  too,  were  necessary 
contingencies  not  easily  united  in  one  and  the 
«ame  man. 

Finally,  by  looking  about  and  inquiring,  he 
found  a  person  to  write  the  letter,  but,  not 
knowing  whether  they  were  still  at  Monza, 
or  where  they  were,  he  thought  it  best  to  en- 
close the  letter  directed  to  Agnes,  in  an  envel- 
ope addressed  to  the  care  of  Father  Christo- 
pher, with  a  couple  of  lines  also  to  him.  The 
amanuensis  charged  himself  also  with  for- 
warding the  packet,  and  delivered  it  to  one 
who  had  to  pass  not  far  from  Pescarenico ; 
this  person  left  it  with  many  careful  recom- 
mendations at  an  inn  on  the  road,  the  nearest 
to  the  convent,  and  in  consideration  of  its 
being  directed  to  so  holy  a  place,  it  at  last  got 
there,  but  what  afterwards  became  of  it,  was 
never  known.  Renzo  seeing  no  answer  come 
back,  got  another  letter  ready,  pretty  much 
like  the  first,  but  enclosed  it  to  an  acquain- 
tance or  relation  of  his  at  Lecco.  Another 
messenger  was  looked  for  and  found,  >and  this 
time  the  letter  reached  the  person  it  was  di- 
rected to.  Away  went  Agnes  to  Maggianico, 
and  got  her  couzin  Alessio  to  read  it  to 
her,  and  having  concerted  an  answer  to  it 
with  him,  which  he  committed  to  writing, 
means  were  found  to  send  it  to  Antonio  Rivolta 
at  the  place  of  his  domicile  :  all  this,  however, 
was  not  done  as  quick  as  we  are  relating  it. 
Renzo  got  the  answer,  and  in  time  replied  to 
it.  To  be  brief,  a  correspondence  was  got  up 
between  them,  not  very  rapid  nor  very  regular, 
but  kept  up  by  intervals  and  starts. 

But  to  form  a  just  idea  of  that  correspon- 
dence, it  is  necessary  to  understand  how  such 
things  were  managed,  and  indeed  how  they 
still  continue  to  be  :  for  in  this  particular,  per- 
haps very  little  change  has  taken  place. 

The  rustic  who  does  not  know  how  to 
write,  and  who  finds  it  necessary  for  him  to 
write,  goes  to  one  who  understands  that  art, 
choosing  as  well  as  he  is  able,  amongst  those  of 
his  own  condition,  having  no  great  opinion  of, 
and  placing  little  confidence  in  any  body  else : 
he  tolls  him,  with  more  or  less  order  and  per- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


175 


spicuity,  what  has  happened  antecedently,  and 
in  like  manner  explains  the  thoughts  he  wishes 
to  be  communicated.  The  literary  charac- 
ter, understands  a  part,  and  misunderstands  a 
part  of  what  he  is  told,  gives  a  little  advice, 
proposes  some  change  ;  says — leave  it  to  me — 
takes  his  pen,  turns  the  spoken  thought  as 
well  as  he  is  able  into  a  written  one,  corrects 
it  after  his  own  taste,  improves  it,  embellishes 
it,  or  sometimes  mutilates  it,  even  omits  here 
and  there,  where  it  appears  to  him  proper  to 
do  so.  For,  there  is  no  remedy  here,  he  who 
knows  more  than  the  rest  will  not  consent  to 
be  a  mere  material  instrument  in  their  hands, 
and  when  he  engages  in  other  people's  affairs, 
he  will  make  them  go  as  he  thinks  they  ought 
to  go.  With  all  this,  the  literary  party  does 
not  always  succeed  in  saying  what  he  wishes 
to  say,  he  sometimes  even  says  the  very  re- 
verse ;  this  also  happens  to  us  who  write  for 
the  press.  When  a  fetter  thus  got  up  reaches 
the  person  it  was  addressed  to,  who  in  like 
manner  is  not  acquainted  with  A,  B,  C  and 
company,  he  carries  it  to  another  person  who 
has  some  intimacy  with  them,  and  who  reads 
and  explains  it  to  him.  Questions  however 
of  construction  arise,  for  the  person  most 
interested,  relying  upon  his  knowledge  of  pre- 
ceding facts,  pretends  that  certain  words 
have  a  particular  meaning ;  whilst  the  reader 
relying  upon  the  practice  he  has  in  com- 
position, insists  that  their  meaning  is  quite 
different.  At  last  it  becomes  necessary  for 
the  person  who  does  not  know,  to  put 
himself  into  the  hands  of  the  person  who 
does  know,  and  to  entrust  the  answer  to  him, 
the  which,  being  got  up  in  like  manner,  goes 
to  its  destination,  subject  to  a  similar  inter- 
pretation. If,  in  addition,  the  subject  of  the 
correspondence  is  somewhat  jealous,  if  secret 
affairs  are  to  be  treated  of  in  it,  which  it  is  desi- 
rable to  conceal  from  a  third  party,  in  the  event 
of  the  letter's  taking  a  wrong  course  :  if,  for 
this  reason,  things  are  intentionally  stated  in 
an  obscure  manner,  then,  however  short  a 
time  the  correspondence  may  last,  the  parties 
conclude  by  understanding  one  another,  just  as 
formerly  two  scholastics  would  do  after  dis- 

Suting  for  four  hours  upon  entelechy.     We 
ecline  choosing  our  simily  from  any  thing  of 
modern  date,  wishing  to  avoid  the  disagreea- 
ble occurrence  of  a  box  on  the  ear. 

Now  the  case  of  our  two  correspondents 
was  exactly  the  one  we  have  been  describing. 
The  first  letter  written  in  the  name  of  Renzo 
contained  a  great  deal  of  matter.  There  was 
the  history  of  his  flight  from  Milan,  a  great 
deal  more  concise,  but  not  quite  as  well  com- 
posed as  we  flatter  ourselves  ours  has  been, 
as  well  as  an  account  of  his  present  situation 
and  circumstances ;  from  which  Agnes,  as 
well  as  her  drogoman  were  very  far  from  col- 
lecting a  lucid  and  perfect  notion.  Myste- 
rious advice — change  of  name — perfect  secu- 
rity, but  a  necessity  of  remaining  hid  :  things 
by  themselves  not  very  familiar  with  their  in- 
tellects, aud  in  the  letter  communicated  part- 


ly in  cypher.  Then  there  were  inquiries  of 
the  most  impassioned  and  distressing  kind 
about  Lucia,  with  dark  and  sorrowful  hints 
concerning  the  reports  that  had  reached 
Renzo.  Finally  it  contained  uncertain  and 
distant  hopes,  plans  cut  out  for  the  future,  and 
promises  and  entreaties  meantime  for  the  pre- 
servation of  mutual  faith,  not  to  lose  patience 
and  courage,  but  to  wait  awhile. 

This  having  passed  over  a  time,  Agnea 
found  a  trusty  means  of  sending  an  answer  to 
Renzo,  with  the  fifty  crowns  Lucia  had  as- 
signed him.  At  the  sight  of  this  gold  he  knew 
not  what  to  think,  and  with  his  mind  agitated 
with  a  wonder  and  astonishment,  that  admitted 
of  no  complacent  satisfaction,  he  ran  in  search 
of  the  person  who  wrote  for  him,  to  get  the 
letter  interpreted,  that  he  might  have  the  key 
of  such  a  strange  mystery. 

In  the  letter,  the  secretary  of  Agnes,  after 
some  lamentations  at  the  little  perspicuity 
contained  in  his  letter,  began  to  describe,  at 
least  in  quite  as  lamentable  a  manner,  the 
tremendous  story  of  that  person,  (this  was 
the  term  used)  and  then  explained  the  affair 
of  the  fifty  crowns.  The  next  thing  spoken 
of  was  the  vow,  but  this  was  done  with  some 
paraphrase,  finishing,  in  more  direct  and  clear 
terms,  with  advice  to  set  his  heart  at  peace, 
and  to  think  of  her  no  more. 

Renzo  trembled,  shook  with  rage,  and  was 
furious  at  what  was  read  to  him,  as  well  as 
what  he  could  not  comprehend ;  and  could 
hardly  restrain  himself  from  taking  revenge 
on  his  interpreter.  Three  or  four  times  he 
had  the  fatal  epistle  read  to  him,  sometimes 
comprehending  it  better,  and  sometimes  that 
which  seemed  clear  to  him  at  first,  appearing 
all  at  once  obscure.  In  this  feverish  passion 
he  insisted  upon  the  man's  instantly  talcing  up 
the  pen,  and  answering  it.  After  the  strong- 
est expressions  that  can  be  imagined  of  com- 
passion and  terror  for  the  adventures  of  Lucia, 
"write,"  exclaimed  he,  dictating,  "write,  that  I 
will  not  set  my  heart  at  peace,  that  I  never  will 
do  so,  and  that  that  is  not  advice  to  give  to  a 
young  fellow  like  me  ;  and  that  I  never  will 
touch  the  money,  that  I  will  put  it  by,  and 
keep  it  for  her  dower ;  that  the  maiden  is 
mine,  and  that  I  know  nothing  about  pro- 
mises ;  and  that  I  have  always  heard  say,  that 
the  virgin  is  applied  to,  to  help  those  in  tribula- 
tion, and  to  obtain  favors  from,  but  never  to 
help  others  to  break  their  words  and  to  affront 
people  ;  this  I  have  never  heard  :  and  that  this 
can't  be,  and  that  with  this  money,  we  can  live 
here,  and  that  if  I  am  in  some  trouble  now,  it 
is  a  storm  that  will  soon  pass  over."  Agnes 
got  the  letter,  and  answered  it,  and  the  corre- 
spondence was  continued  in  the  manner  we 
have  described. 

Lucia,  as  soon  as  her  mother  was  enabled, 
by  some  means  or  other,  to  send  her  word  that 
such  a  one  was  alive  and  in  safety,  and  ac- 
quainted with  what  had  taken  place,  felt  a 
great  relief,  and  desired  nothing  more  than 
mat  he  should  forget  her,  or  to  speak  more 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


precisely,  that  he  should  think  about  forgetting 
her.  On  her  side,  a  hundred  times  a  day  she 
made  a  similar  resolution  in  relation  to  himself, 
and  adopted  all  sorts  of  means  too  to  carry  it 
into  effect.  She  kept  indefatigably  at  work, 
and  sought  to  occupy  her  whole  mind  with  it : 
when  the  image  of  Kenzo  presented  itself,  she 
would  endeavor  to  say  or  sing  mentally  her 
orisons.  But  that  image,  just  as  if  it  was  ma- 
liciously disposed,  did  not  come  boldly  for- 
wards, but  insinuated  itself,  as  it  were,  behind 
all  the  others,  so  that  the  mind  was  not  aware 
of  its  being  present,  until  it  had  been  for  some 
time  introduced.  Lucia's  thoughts  were  fre- 
quently with  her  mother;  how  could  it  be 
otherwise  ?  and  then  this  ideal  Renzo  came 
softly  in  to  make  a  third,  just  as  he  himself  in 
his  own  person,  had  often  done  before.  In  the 
same  manner,  with  all  persons,  in  all  places, 
in  all  past  remembrances,  he  was  sure  to  be 
there.  And  when  the  poor  girl  sometimes 
permitted  herself  to  build  castles  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  future,  he  appeared  also,  if  it  was 
to  say  nothing  else  but — I  shall  form  no  part 
of  these  plans. — But  if  not  to  think  at  all  of 
him  was  a  desperate  undertaking,  still  she 
could  try  to  think  less  of  him,  and  less  intense- 
ly than  her  heart  would  have  desired.  Up  to 
a  certain  point  she  succeeded  in  this,  and 
would  have  succeeded  much  better  if  she  had 
been  left  to  herself.  But  there  was  Donna 
Prasede,  who  being  deeply  engaged  in  an  at- 
tempt to  root  him  out  of  her  mind,  had  hit 
upon  the  goodly  expedient  of  talking  constant- 
ly to  her  about  him  "  Well,"  said  she  to  her, 
"  are  we  thinking  any  more  about  that  young 
fellow  ?" 

"  I  am  thinking  of  no  one,"  replied  Lucia. 

"Donna  Prasede  was  not  to  be  satisfied  in 
that  way,  and  replied  that  facts  were  better 
than  words,  and  went  into  a  long  harangue 
about  the  ways  of  young  women.  "  When," 
said  she,  "  they  give  up  their  hearts  to  one  of 
these  debauched  young  fellows,  (and  that  is 
their  natural  propensity,)  they  never  will 
give  him  up ;  when  a  respectable  party  is  in 
the  case,  a  reasonably  honest,  well  settled 
man,  then  if  any  difficulty  arises,  they  become 
immediately  reconciled;  but  when  they  can't 
have  one  of  these  dissolute  fellows,  they  are 
incurably  wounded."  Then  she  began  a  pane- 
gyric upon  the  poor  absent  young  fellow,  the 
villain  that  had  gone  to  Milan  to  deliver  it  up 
to  pillage  and  slaughter ;  and  wanted  too  to 
make  Lucia  confess  all  the  villanies  he  had 
committed  in  his  own  country. 

Lucia,  her  voice  trembling  with  shame, 
with  grief,  and  with  as  much  indignation  as 
could  exist  in  her  gentle  mind,  and  humble 
fortune,  asserted  and  declared,  that  in  his  own 
country,  the  poor  young  fellow  had  never  had 
any  thing  said  of  him  but  what  was  good ;  she 
wished,  she  said,  that  some  one  was  present 
from  that  quarter,  that  Donna  Prasede  might 
ask  them  on  thatsubject.  Even  about  his  ad  ven- 
tures at  Milan,  respecting  which  she  could  not 
enter  into  particulars,  she  defended  him,  sim- 


ply from  the  perfect  knowledge  she  had  of  him, 
and  of  his  conduct  from  his  childhood.  She  de- 
fended, or  proposed  to  defend  him,  for  the 
pure  sake  of  charity,  for  the  love  of  truth,  and 
of  Renzo,  as  her  neighbor ;  at  least  these  were 
the  moving  causes  of  her  zeal,  as  she  explain- 
ed them  to  herself.  But  Donna  Prasede  drew 
new  arguments  from  these  apologies,  to  con- 
vince Lucia  that  she  had  thrown  away  her 
heart  entirely  upon  him.  And,  indeed,  at 
those  moments  we  positively  cannot  tell  how 
the  matter  stood.  The  unworthy  picture  the 
old  woman  had  drawn  of  the  poor  young  man, 
awakened,  through  opposition,  in  the  mind  of 
the  maiden,  in  a  more  lively  and  distinct  man- 
ner than  ever,  the  idea  that  had  been  so  long 
formed  there  by  habit,  and  the  remembrances 
she  had  with  difficulty  stifled,  unfolded  them- 
selves in  crowds.  The  aversion  and  scorn  she 
now  heard  connected  with  his  name,  called  up 
so  many  ancient  motives  for  esteem  and  sym- 
pathy. This  blind  and  violent  hatred  gave  new 
strength  to  her  compassion ;  and  with  these 
feelings  who  knows  how  much  there  might  be 
or  might  not  be,  of  that  more  powerful  ieeling 
which  introduces  itself  so  easily  into  the  mind 
along  with  them :  what  is  it  not  capable  of 
doing,  in  bosoms,  whence  it  is  attempted  to 
be  dragged  by  force.  However  that  may  be, 
Lucia's  share  of  the  conversation  was  in  no 
danger  of  becoming  long,  for  her  words  were 
soon  overpowered  by  her  tears. 

If  Donna  Prasede  had  been  moved  to  treat 
her  in  that  way,  out  of  some  inveterate  hatred 
against  her,  perhaps  those  tears  would  have 
subdued  her  and  made  her  silent ;  but,  as  she 
was  occupied  in  doing  good,  she  kept  on  with 
out  being  in  the  least  moved  ;  just  as  groans 
and  supplicating  cries  may  well  arrest  the  arm 
of  an  enemy,  but  not  the  Knife  of  the  surgeon. 
Having,  however,  done  her  duty  upon  this  oc- 
casion, from  reproofs  and  scoldings  she  came 
to  exhortations  and  to  advice,  seasoned  with  a 
little  commendation,  just  to  temper  the  sour 
with  the  sweet,  and  to  produce  a  oetter  effect, 
operating  upon  the  mind  in  every  way.  These 
disputes,  however,  (which  were  pretty  near 
of  the  same  nature,)  did  not  produce  in  Lucia 
any  permanent  rancor  against  her  cruel  lec- 
turer, who,  in  other  matters,  treated  her  very 
humanely,  and  even  in  this  was  acting  for  the 
best.  To  be  sure  they  left  some  agitation  be- 
hind them,  some  disturbance  in  her  thoughts 
and  affections,  so  that  it  required  no  small 
effort,  and  some  time,  to  return  to  those  tran- 
quil feelings  she  sometimes  possessed. 

It  was,  however,  fortunate  for  her,  that  she 
was  not  the  only  person  to  whom  Donna  Pra- 
sede was  anxious  to  do  good,  so  that  these  dis- 
putes were  much  less  frequent  than  they  might 
have  been.  She  had  the  rest  of  her  family  on 
her  hands,  all  of  them  heads  that  wanted  more 
or  less  to  be  directed  in  the  right  way ;  and 
besides  all  the  other  occasions  that  came  in 
her  way,  or  that  she  found  out,  to  extend  the 
same  good  offices  to  many  to  whom  she  was 
under  no  sort  of  obligation,  she  had  also  five 


1  PROMESS1  SPOSI. 


175 


daughters,  none  of  them  at  home,  but  who 
eave  her  a  great  deal  more  to  think  about, 
than  if  they  Lad  been  there.  Three  of  them 
were  nuns,  and  two  of  them  were  married ; 
so  that  it  very  naturally  fell  to  Donna  Prasede 
to  charge  herself  with  the  superintendence  of 
three  monasteries  and  two  families.  A  vast 
and  complicated  undertaking ;  which  became 
more  arduous  on  account  of  the  obstinacy  of 
two  husbands,  encouraged  by  their  fathers, 
mothers,  and  brothers,  and  of  three  abbesses, 
flanked  by  many  other  dignities  and  numerous 
nuns,  not  one  of  whom  would  submit  to  her 
superintendence.  It  was  a  war,  nay,  five  civil 
wars  in  disguise,  but  vigilantly  and  actively 
carried  on.  In  each  of  these  citadels  con- 
tinued attention  was  kept  up  to  decline  her  so- 
licitudes, to  close  the  door  to  all  her  counsels, 
to  elude  her  inquiries,  and  to  keep  her  in  the 
dark  as  much  as  it  was  possible,  about  every 
thing  that  was  going  on.  We  do  not  add  to 
these  the  contentions  and  difficulties  she  met 
with  in  the  management  of  concerns  still  far- 
ther removed  from  her ;  it  is  too  often  neces- 
sary to  do  good  to  people  by  force  Where 
her  zeal  could  fully  exercise  itself,  and  have 
the  freest  scope,  was  at  home  :  every  one 
there  was  subject  all  in  all  to  her  authority, 
except  Don  Ferrante,  with  whom  things  went 
on  in  a  way  altogether  peculiar. 

A  studious  man,  he  liked  neither  to  com- 
mand nor  to  obey.  That  the  Signora,  his  wife, 
should  be  mistress  of  every  thing  in  the  house, 
was  all  perfectly  right ;  but  that  he  should  be 
her  servant,  was  not  at  all  his  intention.  And 
if,  when  he  was  asked,  he  occasionally  assisted 
her  with  his  pen,  it  was  because  the  occupa- 
tion was  not  disagreeable  to  him,  but  he  knew 
how  to  say  no,  even  upon  these  occasions, 
when  the  matter  she  wanted  him  to  write  did 
not  suit  him.  "  Try  yourself,"  he  would  say, 
"do  it  yourself,  since  the  affair  appears  so 
plain  to  you."  Donna  Prasede,  when  she  had 
vainly  endeavored  sometimes  to  get  him  out  of 
liis  track,  confined  herself  to  grumbling  against 
him,  to  call  him  a  man  that  could  not  bear  to 
think,  a  man  with  a  peculiar  kind  of  head,  one 
of  your  literary  heads ;  a  title,  which,  notwith- 
standing her  spite,  she  gave  him  with  some 
complaisance  too. 

Don  Ferrante  passed  many  hours  in  his  study, 
where  he  had  made  a  considerable  collection 
of  books,  a  little  less  than  three  hundred  vo- 
lumes, all  select  matter,  works  of  great  repu- 
tation, in  various  branches,  and  in  all  of  them 
he  was  more  or  less  versed.  In  astrology  he 
was  very  properly  esteemed  more  than  a  dilet- 
tante, for  he  not  only  possessed  those  generic 
notions,  and  that  common  vocabulary  of  in- 
fluxes, of  aspects,  and  of  conjunctions,  but  he 
knew  how  to  talk  systematically,  and  like  a 
professor,  of  the  twelve  heavenly  houses,  of 
the  great  circles,  of  the  lucid  and  dark  degrees, 
of  exaltation  and  dejection,  of  transits  and  of 
revolutions,  and  of  all  the  most  infallible  and 
recondite  principles  of  the  science.  Twenty 
years,  perhaps,  had  elapsed,  since,  in  frequent 


and  long  disputes,  he  had  maintained  the  domi- 
fication  of  Cardano,*  against  another  learned 
person,  most  ferociously  attached  to  that  of 
Alcabizio,  as  Don  Ferrante  said — through  pure 
obstinacy.  He  willingly  acknowledged  the 
superiority  of  the  ancients,  but  could  not  en- 
dure that  they  should  always  be  preferred  to 
the  moderns,  even  in  cases  where  they  were 
evidently  in  the  right.  He  knew,  also,  with 
more  than  mediocrity,  the  history  of  the 
science,  and  could  cite,  when  it  was  necessary, 
the  most  celebrated  predictions  which  had 
come  to  pass,  and  could  reason  in  a  subtle 
manner,  and  with  some  erudition  respecting 
other  celebrated  predictions  which  had  failed, 
in  order  to  show  that  the  blame  was  not  to  be 
laid  on  the  science,  but  on  those  who  had  not 
the  skill  to  apply  its  principles  properly. 

Of  ancient  philosophy  he  had  acquired  as 
much  as  he  wanted,  and  continued  making  ad- 
vances in  it  by  the  lecture  of  Diogenes  Lser- 
tius.  But  as  those  systems,  attractive  as  they 
are,  cannot  all  be  adhered  to,  and  as  a  man 
who  wishes  to  be  a  philosopher,  must  choose 
his  school,  so  Don  Ferrante  chose  that  of  Aris- 
totle, who,  as  he  used  to  say,  was  neither  an 
ancient  nor  a  modern,  but  was  a  philosopher, 
and  nothing  else.  He  possessed,  also,  various 
works  of  the  most  learned  and  subtle  of  his 
followers  amongst  the  moderns  :  he  could  ne- 
ver be  brought  to  read  those  writers  who  were 
opposed  to  him,  because,  as  he  said,  it  was 
throwing  away  time ;  neither,  indeed,  would 
he  buy  them,  because,  as  he  said,  that  was 
throwing  away  his  money.  Only  by  way  of 
exception,  he  gave  a  place  in  his  library  to 
those  celebrated  twenty-two  books,  De  Subti- 
litate,  and  to  another  anti-peripatetic  work  of 
Cardano,  on  account  of  his  great  value  as  an 
astrologer ;  saying,  that  he  who  could  write 
the  treatise  De  restitutione  temporum  et  motuum 
ccslestium,  and  the  book  Duodecimgeniturarum, 
|  deserved  to  be  listened  to,  even  when  he  was 
talking  nonsense.  His  great  defect,  he  said, 
was,  to  have  had  too  much  genius,  and  that  no 
one  could  conjecture  the  progress  he  would 
|  have  made,  even  in  philosophy,  if  he  had  only 
j  kept  in  the  right  road.  As  to  the  rest,  though 
Don  Ferrante,  in  the  judgment  of  the  learned, 
passed  for  a  consummate  peripatetic,  still  it 
appeared  to  him  that  he  was  not  sufficiently 
indoctrinated,  and  with  great  modesty,  he  said 
more  than  once,  that  the  essence,  universals. 
the  soul  of  the  world,  and  the  nature  of  things, 
were  matters  not  quite  so  clear,  as  some  were 
disposed  to  think. 

Of  natural  philosophy  he  had  made  rather  a 
pastime  than  a  study ;  the  works  of  Aristotle, 
on  this  branch  of  knowledge,  he  had  rather  read 
than  studied ;  nevertheless,  with  the  notices 


*  These  rival  systems  of  domification  were  sustained 
with  great  spirit  by  their  partisans.  The  arrangement 
of  the  heavens  was  established  by  means  of  the  hori- 
zon of  the  meridian,  and  the  Intersection  of  four  cir- 
cles of  position.  The  point  where  the  first  house  be- 
gan, was  at  the  horoscope,  and  this  was  the  exact 
point  of  the  ecliptic  in  the  horizon,  at  the  moment  of 
nativity.— Trans. 


176 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


he  had  incidentally  got  from  the  treatises  on 
general  philosophy,  with  a  peep  he  had  taken 
into  the  natural  magic  of  Porta,  the  three  His- 
tories, Lapidum,jlnimalium,  and  Plantarum,  of 
Cardano ;  into  the  Treatise  on  Herbs,  Plants, 
and  Animals,  of  Alb.  Magno,  and  some  other 
works  of  less  account ;  he  could,  upon  oppor- 
tune occasions,  entertain  persons  of  cultivated 
minds,  with  a  relation  of  the  most  wonderful 
virtues,  and  of  the  most  curious  particularities 
of  many  simple  bodies ;  describing  exactly  the 
forms  and  the  habits  of  sirens,  and  of  the  rare 
and  solitary  phcenix,  explaining  how  the  sala- 
mander can  remain  in  the  fire  without  burning ; 
how  the  remora*  has  strength  and  power  to 
stop  instantaneously  upon  the  high  seas,  a 
vessel  of  the  largest  size ;  how  drops  of  dew 
become  pearls  in  the  interior  of  shells ;  how 
the  cameleon  lives  upon  air ;  how  ice  slowly 
indurated,  in  long  periods  becomes  rock  crystal, 
and  many  other  most  wonderful  secrets  of  na- 
ture. 

To  those  connected  with  magic  and  witch- 
craft he  had  paid  the  most  attention,  as  apper- 
taining, according  to  our  anonymous  author, 
to  a  science  more  general  and  necessary,  in 
which  the  facts  are  not  only  of  great  import- 
ance, but  more  easily  within  our  reach,  so  as 
to  admit  of  their  verification.  We  have  only 
to  add,  that  in  the  study  of  these  matters,  he 
had  never  had  any  other  object  than  to  get  in- 
formation of,  and  be  correctly  acquainted 
with,  the  most  dangerous  practices  of  wizards, 
that  he  might  protect  and  defend  himself  from 
them.  And  principally  under  the  guidance  of 
Martino  Delno,  (the  great  man  of  the  science,) 
lie  became  enabled  to  talk  ex  professo,  of  ama- 
tory witchcraft,  of  somniferous  witchcraft,  of 
hostile  witchcraft,  and  of  the  infinite  species 
of  it, — which — as  our  anonymous  author  says, 
these  three  capital  branches  of  sorcery,  too 
much  in  practice  at  this  day,  produce  such 
dreadful  consequences. 

Not  less  profound  and  extensive  was  his  in- 
formation in  relation  to  history,  especially  uni- 
versal history,  of  which  his  favorite  authors 
were  Tarcagnota,  Dolce,  Bugatti,  Campana, 
Guazzo,  names,  in  short,  of  the  first  reputation. 

But  what  is  history,  frequently  exclaimed 
Don  Ferranto,  without  politics  ?  A  guide  that 
goes  on  and  goes  on,  without  any  one  follow- 
ing to  teach  the  road  to,  and  consequently 
throwing  away  all  the  labor ;  just  as  politics 
without  history  is  like  a  person  wandering 
without  a  guide.  He  had,  therefore,  on  his 
shelves  a  compartment  for  statistics,  where, 
amongst  many  of  small  account,  and  of  secon- 
dary rank,  were  Bodino,  Cavalcanti,  Sansovi- 
no,  Paruta,  and  Boccalini.  There  were  two 
works,  however,  that  Don  Ferranle  ranked 


*  Remora  i«  a  name  attached  by  Pliny  to  a  shell  fish, 
of  which  it  is  fabulously  related,  that  I'eriander,  the 
tyrant  of  Corinth,  trading  a  vnnacl  to  Corcyra,  with 
orders  to  mutilate  three  hundred  noble  children,  the 
vessel,  on  account  of  the  great  accumulation  of  these 
"hells,  (probably  the  baliiiius,)  could  make  no  pro- 
grow,  in  gpite  of  a  fair  wind.— Trans. 


greatly  before  all  the  rest,  in  this  branch ;  two, 
that  up  to  a  certain  time,  he  was  accustomed 
to  call  the  first,  without  being  able  to  decide 
with  himself  to  which  of  these  to  give  the  pre- 
ference. One  of  them  was  II  Principe  and  1 
Discorsi  of  the  celebrated  Florentine  secretary ; 
somewhat  of  a  rogue  said  Don  Ferrante,  but 
very  profound.  The  other  was  the  Ragion  di 
Stato,  of  the  no  less  eminent  Giovanni  Botero, 
— a  man  of  some  character — said  he,  but  cun- 
ning enough.  But  just  a  little  before  the  pe- 
riod of  our  story,  a  work  had  come  to  light 
which  put  an  end  to  all  question  of  pre-emi- 
nence, taking  precedence,  as  Don  Ferrante 
said,  even  over  the  works  of  those  two  mata- 
dors ;  a  work  where  every  vice  was  analysed 
and  distilled  as  it  were,  in  order  to  be  exposed, 
as  well  as  every  virtue,  that  they  might  be 
practised.  That  book,  so  insignificant  in  its 
volume,  but  worth  its  weight  in  gold,  in  a 
word,  the  Statista  Regnante  of  Don  V  aleriano 
Castiglione,  a  most  celebrated  author,  of  whom 
it  may  be  said,  that  the  most  distinguished 
men  of  letters  were  emulous  in  his  praise,  and 
that  the  most  elevated  personages  were  anx- 
ious to  get  him  from  one  another :  of  that  man 
whom  Pope  Urban  VIII,  honored,  as  it  is 
known,  with  magnificent  encomiums;  whom 
Cardinal  Borghese  and  the  viceroy  of  Naples, 
Don  Pietro  de  Toledo,  urged  to  illustrate — the 
first,  the  actions  of  Pope  Paul  the  Fifth,  the 
other,  the  wars  of  the  Catholic  king  in  Italy, 
but  which  they  urged  in  vain :  of  that  man 
whom  Louis  XIII,  of  France,  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  Cardinal  Richelieu,  named  his  his- 
toriographer, and  upon  whom  Charles  Ema- 
nuel,  duke  of  Savoy,  conferred  the  same 
office  ;  the  man,  in  praise  of  whom,  suppress- 
ing other  glorious  testimonials,  the  duchess 
Christina,  daughter  of  the  most  Christian  King 
Henry  the  IV,  asserted  amidst  many  other 
encomiums,  in  a  diploma,  "  the  certainty  of 
the  fame  he  enjoys  in  Italy,  as  the  first  writer 
of  our  times." 

But  if,  in  all  the  above  mentioned  sciences, 
Don  Ferrante  might  call  himself  indoctrinated, 
there  was  one  in  which  he  had  deserved  and 
enjoyed  the  title  of  professor — the  science  of 
chivalry.  He  not  only  reasoned  upon  it  like 
a  master,  but  being  frequently  called  upon  to 
interfere  in  affairs  of  honor,  he  always  gave 
some  decision.  He  had  in  his  library,  and  it 
may  be  added,  in  his  head,  the  works  of  the 
most  celebrated  writers  on  that  subject ;  Paris 
del  Pozzo,  Fausto  da  Longiano,  Urrea,  Mu- 
zio,  Romei,  Albergato,  the  Forno  primo,  and 
Forno  secondo,  of  Torquato  Tasso,  of  whom 
he  had  ready,  and  could,  upon  occasion,  quote 
from  memory,  all  the  passages  from  the  Geru- 
salemme  liberata,  as  well  as  of  the  Conquistata, 
that  serve  to  illustrate  matters  of  chivalry.  The 
author  of  authors,  however,  in  his  estimation, 
was  our  celebrated  Francesco  Birago,  concur- 
rently with  whom  he  had  more  than  once  to 
give  judgment  in  affairs  of  honor,  and  who,  on 
his  side,  spoke  of  Don  Ferrante  in  terms  of  par- 
ticular esteem.  And  from  the  moment  the  Dis- 


1  PROMESSI  SPOSL 


177 


corsi  Cavallereschi  of  that  distinguished  author 
appeared,  he  prognosticated,  without  hesita- 
tion, that  it  would  entirely  put  down  the  au- 
thority of  Olevano,  and  would  remain,  toge- 
ther with  its  other  noble  sisters,  as  a  code  of 
the  greatest  authority  to  posterity :  a  prophesy, 
.says  our  anonymous  author,  that  every  one 
can  see  how  it  has  been  fulfilled. 

From  this  he  passed  to  polite  letters.  But 
we  begin  to  doubt,  if  truly  the  reader  has  any 
great  inclination  to  go  on  with  him  in  this  re- 
view ;  and  if  we  have  not  been  acquiring  the 
title  of  a  servile  copier  for  ourselves,  as  well 
as  the  right  to  share  with  our  anonymous  au- 
thor, that  of  a  bore,  for  having  followed  him 
so  closely  in  a  matter  so  foreign  to  our  princi- 
pal story,  and  into  which  he  has  probably  en- 
tered so  largely  only  to  let  out  some  of  his 
learning,  and  to  show  that  he  was  not  behind 
his  age.  However,  leaving  what  we  have 
said  where  it  is,  we  will,  not  to  lose  our  trou- 
ble, omit  the  remainder,  in  order  to  get  back 
to  the  high  road  of  our  story ;  especially  since 
we  have  a  considerable  distance  to  travel  on 
it,  without  meeting  with  any  of  our  personages, 
and  a  still  greater  one,  before  we  reach  those 
in  whose  welfare  the  reader  is  certainly  most 
interested,  if  he  takes  any  interest  in  the  con- 
tents of  this  work. 

Up  to  the  autumn  of  the  following  year, 
1629,  all  of  them  remained,  some  from  inclina- 
tion, others  by  force,  pretty  much  in  the  situa- 
tion where  we  left  them,  without  any  thing 
happening  to  them,  or  being  in  a  position  to 
do  any  thing  worthy  of  being  noted.  The  sea- 
son arrived  in  which  Agnes  and  Lucia  had 
promised  to  meet  again,  but  a  great  public 
event  disappointed  their  wishes;  and,  indeed, 
this  was  one  of  its  most  insignificant  effects. 
Other  great  incidents  succeeded  to  that,  with- 
out, however,  influencing  in  a  remarkable  de- 
gree, the  fate  of  our  personages.  At  length, 
new  occurreHces,  more  general,  stronger,  and 
more  extreme  in  their  nature,  reached  even 
them,  and  the  most  obscure  of  them,  like  the 
driving  and  wandering  force  of  a  mighty 
whirlwind,  which  tears  up  trees  by  the  roots, 
unroofs  houses,  carries  off  the  tops  of  high 
towers,  and  bears  on  the  fragments  before  it : 
such  a  storm  as  lifts  up  the  straws  that  were 
hidden  in  the  grass,  searches  into  corners  for 
the  withered  and  light  leaves,  which  a  lesser 
wind  had  driven  there,  and  drives  them  about, 
involved  in  its  force. 

Now  that  the  private  actions  which  we  have 
yet  to  relate,  may  appear  very  clear,  it  is  ne- 
cessary first,  to  give  an  account  of  these  public 
matters,  going  feck  a  little  for  this  purpose. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

AFTER  the  insurrection,  upon  the  day  of 
Saint  Martin,  and  the  following  one,  it  appears 
23 


that  abundance  returned  in  Milan,  as  if  by  en- 
chantment. The  bakers'  shops  were  filled 
with  bread,  the  price  was  the  same  as  in  the 
most  plentiful  years,  and  flour  in  proportion. 
Those  who  during  the  two  days  had  assisted  to 
get  up  the  uproar,  and  to  do  worse,  had  now, 
(except  a  few  who  were  arrested,)  only  to  ap- 
plaud themselves;  and  they  were  not  silent, 
the  moment  the  fear  of  being  taken  up  had 
passed  away.  In  the  squares,  at  the  corner  of 
the  streets,  in  the  taverns,  it  was  an  open 
tripudia,*  and  boasts  and  congratulations  at 
having  found  out  the  way  to  make  bread 
cheap.  Amidst  all  this  festivity,  however,  and 
presumption,  there  was,  (and  how  could  it  be 
otherwise  ?)  an  inquietude,  a  presentiment, 
that  things  could  not  last  long  in  that  way. 
The  people  besieged  the  bakers  and  the  flour 
sellers,  as  they  had  before  done  during  that 
factitious  and  momentary  abundance  procured 
by  the  tariff  of  Antonio  Ferrer.  Those  who 
had  a  little  money  before  band,  laid  it  out  in 
bread  and  flour,  storing  them  away  in  their 
chests,  in  tubs,  and  in  their  pots  and  pans. 
Thus  struggling  to  enjoy  the  present  advan- 
tage, they  made  the  continued  duration  of 
plenty,  I  do  not  say  impossible,  since  it  was  so 
naturally,  but  even  the  momentary  continua- 
tion of  it  more  and  more  difficult. 

At  length,  on  the  loth  November,  A  ntonio 
Ferrer,  tie  orden  de  su  Excelencia,  issued  a 
proclamtion,  in  which  all  persons  who  had  any 
grain  or  flour  in  their  houses,  were  prohibited 
from  purchasing  of  any  body  else,  whether  in 
small  or  large  quantities ;  and  all  other  persons 
were  ordered  not  to  buy  bread  beyond  the  ab- 
solute wants  of  two  days,  under  pecuniary  and 
corporal  punishment,  at  the  discretion  of  his  ex- 
cellency ,-  with  intimations  to  the  ancients,  and 
hints  to  all  persons,  to  denounce  transgressors : 
the  judges  were  ordered  to  make  searches  in 
the  houses  that  were  indicated  to  them,  and 
the  bakers  at  the  same  time  commanded  to 
keep  their  shops  well  supplied  with  bread,  un- 
der pain,  in  case  of  their  failure  to  do  so,  of 
serving  five  years  in  the  galleys,  and  even  a  lon- 
ger period,  at  the  pleasure  of  his  excellency.  He 
who  can  conceive  of  a  proclamation  like  this 
being  executed,  must  have  a  lively  imagina- 
tion ;  and  certainly,  if  all  that  were  issued  at 
this  period  were  obeyed  with  precision,  it 
must  have  been  necessary  for  the  dutchy  of 
Milan  to  have  as  many  cruizers  out  as  Great 
Britain  has  at  this  day. 

At  any  rate,  whilst  they  were  ordering  the 
bakers  to  make  so  much  bread,  they  ought  to 
have  established  some  regulations  for  supply- 
ing them  with  the  material  of  which  bread  is 
made.  It  had  been  contrived  (as  in  times  of 
scarcity  people  are  always  studying  how  to 
mix  up  in  bread,  materials  that  are  consumed 
in  other  forms)  to  mix  rice  up  with  that  kind 
of  bread  called  mistura.  On  the  23d  of  No- 
vember, a  proclamation  appeared,  sequestra- 
ting to  the  orders  of  the  vicar  of  provisions, 

*  A  soisy  round  dance. 


ITS 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


and  the  council  of  twelve,  one-half  of  the  rice 
with  the  husk  on,  which  any  one  might  pos- 
sess. This  kind  of  rice  was  then,  and  is  still 
called,  risone.  The  penalty  for  whosoever 
should  dispose  of  any  without  the  permission 
of  those  officers,  was  the  confiscation  of  the 
commodity,  and  a  fine  of  three  crowns  for  eve- 
ry moggio.  A  penalty  much  more  humane 
than  the  others. 

But  it  was  necessary  to  pay  for  this  rice  a 
price  too  disproportioned  to  that  of  bread. 
The  charge  of  making  good  such  an  enormous 
difference  had  been  laid  upon  the  city,  but  the 
council  of  decurions,  who  had  taken  it  upon 
themselves,  deliberated  the  same  23d  Novem- 
ber, to  remonstrate  with  the  governor,  it  be- 
ing impossible  to  sustain  the  burthen  any 
longer.  The  governor,  therefore,  in  a  procla- 
mation, dated  the  7th  December,  fixed  the  price 
of:  the  rice  at  twelve  livres  the  moggio.  Any 
one  who  asked  more,  or  refused  to  sell  at  that 
price,  was  to  incur  the  penalty  of  a  seizure  of 
the  article,  and  a  fine  of  equal  value,  together 
with  a  still  greater  pecuniary  fine,  and  corporal 
punishment,  even  as  far  as  the  galleys,  at  the 
pleasure  of  his  excellency,  according  to  the  na- 
ture of  the  case,  and  thepersons  it  concerned. 

The  price  of  rice  without  the  husk  had 
been  fixed  before  the  insurrection,  as  prboably 
the  tariff,  or  to  make  use  of  that  most  cele- 
brated denomination  in  modern  annals,  the 
maximum  of  corn ;  and  other  grains,  in  common 
use,  had  been  fixed  by  other  proclamations, 
which  we  have  not  met  with. 

Bread  and  flour,  therefore,  being  kept  at  so 
low  a  price  in  Milan,  whole  processions  of 
people  consequently  came  from  the  country, 
to  provide  for  themselves.  Don  Gonzalo,  to 
obviate,  as  he  said,  this  inconvenience,  prohi- 
bited, by  an  ordinance  of  the  15th  December, 
any  one  to  carry  bread  out  of  the  city,  beyond 
the  value  of  twenty  soldi,  under  penalty  of 
the  bread  itself,  and  twenty-five  crowns,  and 
in  case  of  inability  to  pay,  to  have  the  cord  twice 
given  on  the  public  rack,  and  an  increased  pun- 
ishment, as  usual,  at  the  pleasure  of  his  excel- 
lency. On  the  22d  of  the  same  month,  (we  do 
not  perceive  why  it  was  published  so  much 
later,)  a  like  ordinance  came  out  respecting 
flour  and  grains. 

The  mob  had  tried  to  produce  abundance 
by  pillaging  and  burning ;  the  legal  authorities 
endeavored  to  maintain  it  by  the  galleys  and 
the  rack.  However  convenient  their  respec- 
tive means  were  to  them,  the  reader  will  per- 
ceive how  little  they  were  suited  to  the  end, 
and  how  far  they  were  from  contributing  to 
advance  it,  will  soon  appear.  It  is  easy  to 
perceive,  and  not  useless  to  observe,  the  ne- 
cessary connexion  between  these  strange  con- 
trivances ;  each  of  them  was  an  inevitable 
;  consequence  of  the  antecedent  one,  and  both 
*  of  them  of  the  first  measure,  that  fixed  the 
price  of  bread  so  much  below  that  which 
would  have  resulted  from  the  true  state  of 
things.  A  measure  of  that  kind  has  always 
appeared,  and  must  necessarily  have  appeared 


equitable  to  the  people,  as  in  other  respects 
simple  and  easy  to  put  in  execution ;  it  is, 
therefore,  natural,  that  straightened  and  dis- 
tressed by  dearth,  they  must  wish  for  it,  must 
implore  it,  and,  if  possible,  compel  the  adop- 
tion of  it.  In  proportion,  too,  as  the  conse- 
quences manifest  themselves,  it  becomes  neces- 
sary for  those  whose  duty  it  is  to  remedy  them 
by  a  law  prohibiting  men  from  doing  what  they 
were  led  to  do  by  preceding  measures.  We 
shall  be  permitted  here,  incidentally,  to  men- 
tion a  singular  fact.  In  a  country,  and  at  an 
epoch  not  distant  from  our  own,  the  most  cla- 
morous and  remarkable  period  of  modern  his- 
tory, similar  events  took  place  under  like  cir- 
cumstances, (similar,  it  may  be  almost  said, 
in  substance,  and  nearly  in  the  same  order, 
with  the  sole  difference  of  the  scale  uponr 
which  they  prevailed,)  to  the  disgrace  of  the 
intelligence  then  prevailing  in  Europe,  and  in 
that  particular  country,  perhaps,  more  than 
in  any  other :  and  all  this,  chiefly  because  the 
reat  popular  mass,  whom  that  intelligence 
ad  not  reached,  was  permitted  to  have  its 
own  way  so  long,  and  overawe  those  who- 
made  the  laws. 

Thus,  returning-  to  our  own  affairs,  two 
principal  results,  to  sum  up  all,  had  arisen 
from  the  insurrection :  the  destruction  and 
complete  loss  of  provisions  during  the  insur- 
rection, and  a  consumption,  as  long  as  the  tariff 
lasted,  extreme  and  without  bounds,  of  a  gay 
kind  too,  diminishing  the  miserable  amount 
of  grain,  the  sole  dependance  until  the  next 
harvest.  To  these  general  results  may  be  ad- 
ded the  execution  of  four  of  the  people  who 
were  hung  as  leaders  of  the  revolt,  two  before 
the  bakery  of  the  grucce,  and  the  others  at  the 
head  of  the  street  where  the  vicar  of  provi- 
sions lived. 

As  to  the  rest,  the  historical  relations  of 
those  times  are  made  so  much  at  random,  that 
no  account  whatever  can  be  found  of  how  and 
when  that  extravagant  tariff  was  abrogated. — 
If,  in  the  absence  of  positive  information,  we 
may  offer  a  conjecture,  we  incline  to  think 
that  it  was  repealed  a  short  time  previous  or 
posterior  to  the  24th  December,  which  was 
the  day  of  the  execution  alluded  to.  And  as 
to  the  proclamations,  we  do  not  find  any  re- 
specting provisions,  dated  after  the  last  we 
have  cited,  of  the  22d  of  the  same  month ; 
whether  they  have  been  destroyed,  or  have 
eluded  our  researches  ;  or  whether  the  autho- 
rities finally  discouraged,  if  not  overcome  by 
the  fruitkssness  of  their  remedies,  and  the  ir- 
resistible state  of  the  public  disorder,  did  not 
abandon  things  to  their  course.  We  find,  it  is 
true,  in  the  narratives  of  more  than  one  histo- 
rian, (inclined  as  they  were  to  describe  great 
events,  more  than  to  note  their  origin  and 
progress,)  a  picture  of  the  country  and  of  the 
city  especially,  during  the  winter  season  and 
in  the  spring,  when  the  cause  of  the  evil,  the 
disproportion  between  the  stock  of  pro 
visions  and  the  consumption,  not  remov- 
ed, but  increased  by  remedies  which  only 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


179 


gupended  the  effects  temporarily;  nor  yet 
removed  by  a  sufficient  importation  of  pro- 
visions from  without,  which  was  opposed 
by  the  want  of  public  and  private  means ;  the 
penury  of  the  neighboring  countries,  the  ge- 
neral scarcity,  the  slowness  and  the  impedi- 
ments of  commerce,  and  the  laws  themselves 
tending  to  produce  and  to  keep  up  a  forced 
market :  when  the  true  cause  of  the  dearth,  at 
the  period  they  are  describing,  or  to  be  more 
accurate,  the  dearth  was  operating  without 
any  restraint,  and  with  all  its  energy.  We 
here  offer  a  copy  of  that  distressing  picture. 

At  every  step,  shops  shut  up,  the  buildings 
for  the  greatest  part  deserted  :  the  streets  pre- 
senting an  unutterable  spectacle,  an  incessant 
wretchedness,  a  perpetual  abode  of  grief. 
Beggars,  old  in  the  trade,  now  become  the  mi- 
nority, confessedly  mixed  up  and  lost  in  a  new 
multitude,  reduced  to  contend  frequently  for 
alms,  with  those  from  whom,  in  former  times, 
they  had  been  accustomed  to  receive  them. 
Boys  and  clerks  dismissed  from  the  shops  and 
counting-houses,  whose  masters  receiving  no 
more  daily  profits,  led  a  life  of  privation  upon 
their  savings  or  upon  their  capital.  Shop- 
keepers and  merchants  even,  to  whom  the 
the  stoppage  of  business  had  brought  bank- 
ruptcy and  ruin  ;  operatives  of  every  branch 
of  manufactures,  and  of  every  art,  the  most 
common  as  well  as  the  most  refined,  the  most 
essential  as  well  as  the  most  luxurious,  wan- 
dering from  door  to  door,  from  street  to  street, 
leaning  against  the  corners,  laid  down  on  the 
side-walks,  under  the  walls  of  the  houses  and 
churches,  asking  alms  in  a  lamentable  way,  or 
hesitating  between  want  and  the  shame  they 
had  not  yet  subdued,  meagre,  enervated,  shiv- 
ering from  abstinence  and  from  the  rigor  of 
winter,  in  their  ragged  and  insufficient  cloth- 
ing, which  nevertheless,  in  many  instances 
betrayed  their  former  opulence,  and  in  whom 
indications  of  active  and  frank  habits  still 
appeared  through  their  degradation  and  list- 
lessness.  Mingled  in  this  wretched  crowd, 
and  forming  no  small  part  of  it,  were  servants 
discharged  by  their  masters  now  themselves 
fallen  from  mediocrity  into  want,  and  many  of 
whom  had  served  opulent  and  distinguished 
personages,  that  were  unable,  in  a  year  like 
this,  to  keep  up  their  accustomed  retinue. 
And  to  each  of  these  indigent  persons,  was 
added  a  number  of  others,  dependant  for  their 
existence  upon  their  gains — children,  females, 
aged  parents,  in  groups  around  him  who  they 
had  depended  upon,  or  dispersed  about  in 
other  quarters  asking  charity.  There  were  also, 
and  could  be  distinguished  by  their  dishevelled 
ciuffi,  the  tatters  or  their  ancient  gaudy  habits, 
and  something  in  their  deportment  and  ges- 
ture, by  that  mark  which  custom  stamps 
upon  the  countenance,  with  more  distinctness 
in  proportion  to  its  rarity,  many  of  the  race  of 
Bravos,  who,  in  the  common  wretchedness, 
having  lost  the  chance  of  eating  the  bread  of  ini- 
quity, went  about  asking  it  for  inecrcy's  sake. 
Tamed  by  hunger,  contending  with  the  others 


only  in  supplications,  enfeebled  in  their  bo- 
dies, they  dragged  themselves  about  that  citv 
where  they  had  so  often  strutted  with  insolent 
daring,  with  frowning  and  ferocious  aspects, 
dressed  in  gaudy  liveries,  furnished  with  rich 
arms,  decked  with  plumes,  and  tricked  out  in 
perfumed  finery.  Now  they  humbly  stretched 
out  the  hand,  which  they  had  so  often  raised 
in  insolent  menace,  or  to  give  a  traitors 's  blow. 

But  the  densest,  the  darkest,  the  most  de- 
formed spectacle  was  presented  by  the  coun- 
try people,  single,  in  couples,  whole  families. 
Husbands  and  wives,  with  children  in  their 
arms,  or  carried  on  their  shoulders,  leading 
boys  in  their  hands,  and  followed  by  the  aged. 
Some  of  them,  whose  houses  had  been  inva- 
ded and  plundered  by  the  soldiers,  either 
quartered  amongst  them,  or  on  the  march,  had 
fled  in  despair;  and  amongst  these  were  men, 
who  pointed,  as  a  further  incitement  to  com- 
passion, and  as  a  distinction  in  misery,  the 
livid  scars  of  the  injuries  they  had  received, 
in  defending  their  last  resources,  or  in  escap- 
ing from  a  blind  and  brutal  violence.  Others 
who  had  escaped  that  particular  scourge,  but 
driven  away  by  those  too,  from  which  no  cor- 
ner was  exempt,  the  sterility  of  the  ground, 
and  the  burdens,  now  become  more  exorbitant 
than  ever,  to  satisfy  what  is  called  the  neces- 
sities of  war,  were  come,  and  kept  coming  to 
the  city,  as  the  ancient  seat  of  abundance  and 
munificence.  The  newest  arrived  could  be 
known,  less  by  their  hesitating  gait  and 
strange  manner,  than  by  the  angry  astonish- 
ment they  bore  in  their  countenances,  at  such 
an  accumulation,  such  an  overflowing,  such  a 
rivality  in  misery,  where  they  had  supposed 
they  themselves  would  have  been  esteemed 
singular  objects  of  compassion,  and  would 
have  drawn  to  themselves  attention  and  suc- 
cor. The  others,  who  for  more  or  less  time 
had  been  accustomed  to  inhabit  and  wander 
about  the  streets  of  the  city,  keeping  life 
together  with  what  they  picked  up  almost  by 
chance,  in  so  great  a  disparity  between  these 
supplies  and  their  wants  bore  with  them,  ex- 
pressed in  their  countenances  and  their  actions, 
a  deeper  and  a  more  torpid  consternation. 
Various  in  their  dress  or  rather  rags,  as  well 
as  in  their  aspect :  the  pale  faces  of  the  low 
country ;  the  embrowned  ones  from  the  plains 
lying  nearer  to  the  hills,  the  ruddier  mountai- 
neers, but  all  lean  and'  wasted  away,  their 
eyes  sunk  in,  their  looks  senseless  yet  some- 
what haughty,  their  hair  dishevelled,  their 
beards  horribly  long ;  bodies  inured  to  fatigue, 
now  exhausted  by  famine,  the  wrinkled  skin 
upon  their  dry  arms,  their  limbs  and  their  bony 
breasts,  which  appeared  bare  beneath  their 
tattered  rags.  And  differently,  but  not  less 
painful  than  this  spectacle  of  broken  down 
vigor,  was  the  aspect  of  a  nature  sooner  sub- 
dued, of  a  langor,  and  of  a  more  resigned 
attenuation,  in  a  feebler  sex  and  age. 

Here  and  there  were  to  be  seen,  in  the  streets 
and  lanes,  near  the  walls,  under  the  eaves,  a 
little  straw,  and  stubble  trodden  and  broke, 


180 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


mixed  up  with  filthy  rags  ;  even  this  filth  was 
the  gift  of  charitable  persons,  to  serve  as  beds 
to  some  of  those  distressed  creatures,  to  lay 
their  heads  upon  during  the  night ;  now  and 
then  might  be  seen,  even  by  day  light,  an  in- 
dividual stretching  himself  out,  his  limbs  fal- 
tering, and  breathing  short,  through  extreme 
fatigue  and  want :  sometimes  the  couch  bore  a 
corpse,  and  at  times  some  wretched  individual 
would  faint  away,  and  remain  dead  upon  the 
pavement. 

Near  the  prostrate  individual,  a  passenger 
or  a  neighbor  would  be  observed,  bent  down 
and  attracted  there  by  sudden  compassion.  In 
some  quarters  help  was  administered  which 
was  the  fruit  of  a  systematic  providence,  set  in 
motion  by  one  who  was  rich  in  means,  and 
accustomed  to  do  good  upon  a  great  scale. 
This  was  the  good  Federigo.  He  had  made 
choice  of  six  priests,  in  whom  a  willing  and 
persevering  charity  was  accompanied  and  as- 
sisted by  a  robust  constitution :  he  had  divided 
them  into  pairs,  and  assigned  to  each  pair  one 
third  part  of  the  whole  city  to  go  through, 
with  porters  behind  them  loaded  with  various 
food,  with  cordials,  and  other  things  and  resto- 
ratives, as  well  as  clothes.  Every  morning, 
these  three  couple  went  through  the  streets  in 
different  directions,  stopped  at  those  whom 
they  fell  in  with,  that  were  lying  upon  the 
ground  abandoned,  and  administered  such  aid 
to  them  as  they  were  susceptible  of  receiving. 

Now  and  then,  an  individual  in  the  last  ago- 
nies, and  unable  to  receive  nourishment,  had 
the  last  aid  and  consolations  of  religion  adminis- 
tered to  him,  ThDse  to  whom  food  might  be 
serviceable,  had  soup,  eggs,  bread,  and  wine, 
given  to  them  ;  to  others,  greatly  extenuated 
by  long  fasting,  they  gave  more  nourishing 
things,  and  more  generous  wines,  bringing 
them  to,  in  cases  of  necessity,  with  cordials, 
.and  with  strong  vinegar ;  giving,  at  the  same 
time,  to  those  who  were  suffering  most  for  the 
want  of  them. 

Nor  did  this  benevolence  cease  here.  The 
good  pastor  was  desirous,  whenever  it  could 
be  done,  that  the  relief  should  be  efficacious, 
and  not  momentary.  The  poor  creatures,  to 
whom  the  first  attentions  had  restored  their 
strength  sufficiently  to  stand  up  and  walk,  had 
a  little  money  given  to  them  by  the  priests,  so 
that  from  their  coming  wants,  and  in  the  ab- 
sence of  other  succor,  they  might  not  relapse 
into  their  former  prostrate  state  :  for  the  rest, 
they  sought  an  asylum  and  support  in  some 
of  the  neighboring  nouses.  If  there  were  any 
of  them  well  to  do  in  the  world,  hospitality,  at 
the  recommendation  of  the  cardinal,  was,  in 
most  cases,  granted.  In  other  houses,  where 
the  means  were  not  equal  to  the  good  will,  the 
priests  requested  the  sufferers  to  be  admitted 
to  board ;  the  price  was  fixed,  and  money  im- 
mediately paid  on  account.  Notice  was  given 
to  the  parish  priests  of  these  persons,  that  they 
might  visit  them,  and  the  priests  themselves 
occasionally  returned  to  see  them. 

It  need  not  be  said  that  Federigo  did  not 


confine  his  attentions  to  these  extreme  cases 
of  suffering,  nor  had  waited  for  so  much  dis- 
tress before  he  had  begun  to  act.  His  ardent 
and  universal  charity  felt  for  every  thing, 
adapted  itself  to  every  thing,  penetrated  where 
it  had  never  been  before,  and  took  as  many 
forms  as  the  various  cases  of  distress  them- 
selves. In  fact.'collecting  all  his  means,  using 
a  still  more  rigid  economy,  taking  those  sav- 
ings which  he  had  destined  to  other  liberali- 
ties, now  become  of  secondary  importance,  he 
had  sought  out  every  method  to  collect  mo- 
ney, in  order  to  employ  it  in  alleviating  this 
penury.  He  had  made  extensive  purchases  of 
grain,  and  had  despatched  a  great  part  of  them 
to  the  most  distressed  portions  of  his  diocese, 
and  as  the  succor  he  sent  was  far  from  being 
equal  to  the  general  want,  he  sent  abundance 
of  salt,  "  with  which,"  says  Ripamonti,  relat- 
ing the  affair,  "  the  herbs  of  the  field,  and  even 
the  young  barks  of  trees  may  be  converted 
into  human  food."  Grain  also  and  money,  he 
had  supplied  the  parish  priests  of  the  city  with, 
through  the  different  quarters  of  which  he 
went  nimself,  distributing  alms.  Many  indi- 
gent families  were  secretly  assisted  by  him ;  a 
great  quantity  of  rice  was  daily  cooked  in  the 
archiepiscopal  palace,  and  we  have  the  autho- 
rity of  a  contemporaneous  writer  for  saying 
(the  physician  Alessandro  Tadino,  from  whose 
Ragguaglio  we  shall  have  frequent  occasion  to 
quote  hereafter)  that  two  thousand  separate 
portions  of  it  were  distributed  there  every 
morning. 

But  these  effects  of  charity,  which  we  may 
certainly  call  munificent,  when  it  is  consider- 
ed they  came  from  one  man,  and  from  his  own 
means  only,  (for  Federigo  declined  always 
being  the  dispenser  of  the  liberality  of  others,) 
these,  together  with  the  liberality  of  other  pri- 
vate individuals,  numerous,  though  not  equal- 
ly productive  ;  as  well  as  the  assistance  which 
the  council  of  the  decurions  had  assigned  for 
this  moment  of  entire  abandonment  to  misery, 
committing  its  dispensation  to  the  tribunal  of 
provisions,  were,  nevertheless,  insufficient  and 
inadequate  to  the  universal  distress. 

Whilst,  through  the  bounty  of  the  cardinal,  a 
few  mountaineers  and  people  from  the  neigh- 
boring vallies  had  their  lives  prolonged,  others 
reached  the  extreme  term  of  indigence  :  the 
first  having  consumed  the  scanty  succors  they 
had  received,  had  returned  home.  In  other 
quarters,  not  forgotten,  but  postponed  on  ac- 
count of  a  less  degree  of  suffering,  by  a  charity 
compelled  to  discriminate,  the  misery  became 
mortal ;  in  every  place  men  were  dying ;  and 
from  every  place  they  were  moving  to  the 
city.  Here,  a  couple  of  thousands  ot  starved 
wretches,  but  better  able  to  get  on  and  to  make 
room  for  themselves,  had  received  a  portion  of 
soup,  sufficient  to  keep  life  together  for  that 
day;  but  other  thousands  remained  behind, 
envying  those,  fortunate  shall  we  call  them, 
when  amongst  those  left  behind,  were  frequent- 
ly their  own  wives,  children,  and  parents  ? 
And  whilst  in  three  different  points  of  the  city 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


181 


a  few  of  those  abandoned  even  of  hope,  and 
drawing  to  an  end,  were  raised  from  the 
ground,  reanimated,  restored,  and  taken  care 
of  for  a  while,  yet  in  a  hundred  others,  they 
fell  down,  languished,  and  expired  without 
any  assistance  or  relief.  Throughout  the  day, 
a  confused  humming  of  imploring  lamenta- 
tions was  to  be  heard  in  the  streets  ;  and  at 
night  a  murmur  of  general  distress,  interrupt- 
ed from  time  to  time  by  bowlings  that  sudden- 
ly broke  forth,  by  loud  and  long  groanings, 
complaints,  by  solemn  accents  of  invocation, 
and  by  sharp  screams. 

It  is  a  remarkable  thing,  that  amidst  such 
an  excess  of  suffering,  and  such  a  variety  of 
complaints,  not  one  single  attempt  to  stir  up  an 
insurrection  transpired,  at  least  not  the  slight- 
est indication  of  it  can  be  discovered.  Yet 
amongst  those  who  were  suffering  and  dying 
in  that  way,  there  was  a  great  number  of  men 
brought  up  to  any  thing  but  to  suffer  quietly  ; 
hundreds  of  them,  indeed,  were  of  the  number 
of  those  who,  on  Saint  Martin's  day,  had  been 
loud  enough  in  their  violence.  Nor  is  it  to  be 
supposed  that  the  example  of  those  four  poor 
unfortunate  wretches  who  had  paid  the  penalty 
for  all,  imposed  any  restraint  at  present. 
What  influence  could,  not  the  presence,  but 
the  remembrance  of  those  executions,  have 
upon  the  minds  of  a  wandering  and  consoli- 
dated multitude,  that  perceived  it  was  con- 
demned to  a  slow  punishment,  and  that  was 
already  suffering  under  it  ?  But  so,  in  gene- 
ral, are  we  men  made  ;  we  revolt  furiously  and 
indignantly  at  small  evils,  and  prostrate  our- 
selves in  silence  before  great  ones ;  and  sup- 
port, not  resignedly,  but  stupidly,  the  worst 
extent  of  that  which,  at  the  beginning,  we 
called  quite  insupportable. 

The  void  which  the  mortality  made  every 
day  in  that  deplorable  crowd,  was  replaced 
every  day  from  the  country.  It  was  an  inces- 
sant concourse,  first  from  the  neighboring 
towns,  then  from  the  whole  county  of  Milan, 
then  from  the  cities  of  the  states,  and  at  last 
from  those  beyond  it.  In  the  meantime,  every 
day  some  of  its  most  ancient  inhabitants  were 
leaving  Milan,  some  to  get  away  from  the 
sight  of  so  much  misery ;  others,  driven  off 
the  field  by  new  reinforcements  of  mendicants, 
left  it  in  a  last  desperate  attempt  to  seek  relief 
somewhere  else,  wherever  it  might  be,  and 
where  at  least  the  crowd  of  persons  struggling 
for  relief  might  not  be  so  dense,  and  pressing. 
These  opposing  columns  of  pilgrims  met  each 
other,  a  spectacle  of  mutual  dread,  a  sorrow- 
ful proof,  and  a  sinister  omen,  of  the  end  to 
which  they  were  both  hastening.  But  they 
went  onwards,  if  no  longer  with  the  hope  of 
changing  their  fortune,  at  least  that  they  might 
no  longer  look  upon  a  sky  that  was  odious  to 
them,  and  upon  places  wfiere  they  had  felt  so 
much  despair ;  until  some  one,  all  his  vital  force 
wasted  by  abstinence,  would  drop  on  the  road, 
and  breathe  his  last  sigh,  an  object  of  horror 
to  those  in  the  same  state  with  himself,  and 
perhaps  of  reproach  to  the  other  passengers. 


"  I  saw,"  writes  Ripamonti,  "  in  the  road  near 
the  walls,  the  prostrate  corpse  of  a  female ; 
the  grass  half  masticated  was  dropping  from 
her  mouth,  and  her  contaminated  lips  still  re- 
tained some  action  of  a  desperate  effort  to  re- 
lieve herself.  She  had  a  small  bundle  upon 
her  shoulders,  and  an  infant  was  tied  to  her 
breast,  which  was  crying  for  the  breast.  Some 
compassionate  persons  who  were  drawn  to  her, 
had  taken  (he  babe  from  the  ground,  and  were 
dandling  it,  so  far  fulfilling  the  maternal  office 
for  it." 

That  contrast  of  splendor  and  rags,  of  su- 
perfluity and  misery,  the  common  spectacle 
of  ordinary  times,  was  no  longer  to  be  seen. 
Rags  and  misery  had  almost  invaded  every 
thing,  and  nothing  could  be  seen  differing  from 
them,  but  an  occasional  appearance  of  frugal 
mediocrity.  The  nobles  appeared  in  plain  and 
modest  clothes,  if  even  they  were  not  in  rags ; 
some  of  them,  because  the  common  causes  of 
the  misery  had  so  thoroughly  changed  their  own 
fortunes,or  had  entirely  ruined  what  had  already 
been  deranged ;  others,  either  because  they 
feared  to  provoke  by  their  luxury, the  public  de- 
spair, or  were  ashamed  to  insult  the  public  ca- 
lamity. Those  odious  and  dreaded  overbearing 
tyrants,  that  were  wont  to  swagger  about  with 
an  insolent  train  of  Bravos,  now  went  about 
with  their  faces  to  the  ground,  and  with  coun- 
tenances that  seemed  to  implore  for  peace. 
Others,  who  even  in  prosperity,  had  been  more 
humane  and  civil  in  their  deportment,  appeared 
full  of  confusion  and  consternation,  appalled 
by  the  continued  spectacle  of  a  calamity,  which 
exceeded  not  only  the  possibility  of  relief,  but, 
as  may  be  almost  said,  the  power  of  commis- 
seration.  Those  who  had  the  ability  to  give 
relief,  were  obliged  to  make  a  sad  discrimina- 
tion betwixt  those  suffering  the  extremes  of 
hunger.  Scarce  was  a  compassionate  hand 
extended  to  some  unfortunate  wretch,  than  a 
crowd  of  others  equally  wretched  came  up ; 
those  who  had  the  most  strength,  pushed  for- 
wards to  solicit  charity  with  greater  urgency. 
Those  who  were  worn  down,  with  the  aged 
and  the  children,  put  out  their  meagre  hands : 
mothers  from  a  distance  lifted  up  their  weep- 
ing children,  badly  wrapped  up  in  heaps  of 
rags,  and  sinking  from  extreme  weakness  in 
their  hands. 

Thus  passed  the  winter  and  the  spring.  In 
the  meantime  the  tribunal  of  health,  had  re- 
monstrated with  the  council  of  provisons  upon 
the  danger  of  contagion,  now  impending  over 
the  city  by  a  wretchedness  so  concentrated 
and  diffused  in  it :  and  had  proposed  that  all 
these  wandering  mendicants  should  be  collect- 
ed into  different  asylums.  Whilst  this  was 
under  consideration,  and  they  were  devising 
means  and  methods  and  places,  to  carry  it  into 
effect,  the  dead  bodies  in  the  streets  were  in- 
creasing every  day,  and  commensurately  with 
this,  all  the  other  vexations,  the  common  com- 
passion, and  common  danger.  In  the  tribjunal 
of  provisions  another  measure  was  brought 
forward,  apparently  easy  and  expeditious, 


182 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


which  was  to  collect  all  the  mendicants  well 
and  ill,  into  one  place,  and  that  the  lazaretto, 
to  maintain  them  there,  and  to  take  care  of 
their  health  at  the  public  expense.  This  mea- 
sure was  finally  determined  upon  in  opposition 
to  the  tribunal  of  health,  which  objected,  that 
the  collection  of  so  great  a  crowd  would  in- 
crease the  danger  it  was  intended  to  avoid. 

The  lazaretto  of  Milan,  (if  by  chance  this 
story  should  fall  into  the  hands  of  any  one  who 
has  neither  seen  it,  nor  heard  it  described,)  is 
almost  a  quadrangular  building,  out  of  the 
city,  to  the  left  from  the  oriental  gate,  separat- 
ed from  the  ramparts  by  the  canal,  a  street  of 
circumvallation,  and  a  ditch  which  surrounds 
the  lazaretto  itself.  The  two  longest  sides  of 
the  square  are  about  five  hundred  paces  long, 
the  other  two  about  fifteen  paces  less  :  all  of 
them  on  the  exterior  side  are  divided  into  small 
rooms  upon  one  and  the  same  story :  in  the 
inside  there  is  a  portico  supported  with  small 
and  thin  columns,  which  runs  continuously  the 
length  of  three  of  the  sides.  The  rooms  were 
about  two  hundred  and  eighty-eight  in  num- 
ber ;  in  our  days,  a  great  aperture  made  in  the 
centre,  and  a  smaller  one  towards  a  corner  of 
that  side  which  fronts  the  main  road,  have  de- 
stroyed a  great  number  of  them.  At  the  pe- 
riod of  our  story,  it  had  only  two  entrances, 
one  on  the  side  which  fronts  the  walls  of  the 
city,  the  other  on  the  opposite  side.  In  the 
centre  of  the  interior  space,  now  quite  despoil- 
ed, there  was  and  still  is  a  small  octagonal 
temple.  The  first  destination  of  this  building, 
which  was  begun  in  1489,  with  the  legacy  of 
an  individual,  and  finished  with  means  turnish- 
ed  by  the  public,  and  some  private  donations, 
was,  as  its  name  indicates,  to  be  an  occasional 
asylum  for  persons  attacked  with  the  plague ; 
a  fatal  disorder,  that  long  before  that  period, 
had  been  wont,  and  continued  long  after,  to 
appear  thrice,  four,  six,  eight  times  in  a  cen- 
tury, now  in  this,  now  in  that  part  of  Eu- 
rope, infecting  a  great  part  of  it,  or  even  over- 
running it,  as  it  may  be  said,  from  one  end  to 
another.  At  the  time  of  which  we  speak,  the 
lazaretto  was  only  used  as  a  deposit  for  mer- 
chandize seized  in  contraband. 

To  make  it  ready  for  its  new  destination, 
greater  exertions  than  usual  were  made,  and 
the  purifications  prescribed  being  effected  in 
a  great  hurry,  the  merchandise  was  immedi- 
ately released.  Straw  was  spread  in  all  the 
rooms,  a  stock  of  provisions,  such  as  could  be 
collected,  was  laid  in,  and  all  mendicants  were 
invited  to  enter  it,  as  an  asylum,  by  a  public 
edict. 

Many  went  there  voluntarily,  all  that  were 
lying  on  the  ground,  in  the  streets,  and  the 
squares,  were  carried  there,  and  in  a  very  few 
days,  what  with  one  and  another,  they  had  col- 
lected more  than  three  thousand.  But  a  still 
greater  number  was  left  behind.  Either  every 
one  was  waiting  till  the  others  should  go,  that 
a  small  number  might  monopolize  the  charity 
of  the  oty,  or  from  a  natural  repugnance  to 
being  shut  up,  or  the  distrust  which  poor  peo- 


entertain  for  every  proposition  that  cc 
n  their  superiors,  (a  distrust  always 


pie  ente 

from  their  superiors,  ^a  distrust  always  pro- 
portioned to  the  common  ignorance  of  those 
who  entertain  it,  to  the  quality  of  those  who 
inspire  it,  to  the  number  of  the  poor  and  the 
nature  of  the  edict,)  or  from  their  being  ac- 
quainted with  the  real  nature  of  the  advantage 
offered  to  them,  or  all  these  things  puttogether, 
or  something  else,  the  fact  is  that  the  greater 
part  of  them  paid  no  attention  to  the  invita- 
tion, and  continued  to  beg  and  wander  about 
the  streets  of  the  city.  The  authorities  per- 
ceiving this,  judged  it  best  to  proceed  from  in- 
viting to  use  force.  Birri  were  sent  out  to 
drive  all  the  beggars  to  the  lazaretto,  and  tc 
bind  the  contumacious.  Ten  soldi  were 
given  to  them  as  a  premium,  for  every  person 
thus  forced  to  the  place ;  so  true  it  is,  that  even 
in  times  of  the  greatest  distress,  the  public 
money,  some  how  or  other,  is  always  wasted. 
And  although  as  was  supposed,  and  as  even 
was  intended  by  the  measures  taken,  a  certain 
number  of  the  beggars  left  the  city  to  live  or 
die  in  some  other  place,  in  liberty,  at  least, 
still,  so  vigorous  were  the  proceedings,  that  in 
a  short  time  the  number  of  persons  in  the 
lazaretto,  including  guests  and  prisoners,  was 
very  near  ten  thousand. 

The  women  and  the  children,  it  must  be 
supposed,  were  lodged  in  separate  quarters, 
although  the  memorials  of- the  period  do  not 
mention  it.  Rules  and  regulations  to  main- 
tain order  were  certainly  not  wanting,  but 
what  regulations  could  be  enforced,  especially 
in  such  times,  and  under  such  circumstances, 
in  such  a  vast  and  various  collection  of  people ; 
where  those  who  had  come  voluntarily,  and 
those  who  had  been  forced  to  come,  were 
mixed  up  together;  where  those  to  whom, 
mendicity  was  an  act  of  necessity,  of  pain, 
and  of  shame,  were  obliged  to  associate  with 
those  to  whom  begging  was  a  trade  and  occu- 
pation ;  where  many  brought  up  in  the  labors 
of  their  fields  and  their  shops,  were  shut  up 
with  men  brought  up  in  the  stews,  in  taverns, 
and  amongst  brigands,  in  idleness,  kpavery, 
mockery,  and  violence. 

How  they  magaged  altogether  for  lodgings 
and  food,  might  be  sadly  conjectured,  if  we 
had  no  positive  information,  which  we  have. 
They  had  to  sleep  stowed  and  crowded  to- 
gether, twenty  or  thirty  of  them  in  one  of 
those  small  cells,  or  stretched  out  under  the 
porticos,  upon  putrid  and  offensive  straw,  or 
on  the  bare  floor ;  for,  though  it  was  directed 
that  the  straw  should  be  fresh  and  plentiful, 
and  frequently  renewed,  still  it  was  very  scarce, 
very  bad,  and  was  not  renewed.  In  like  man- 
ner the  bread  was  ordered  to  be  of  a  good 
quality,  for  what  administrator  has  ever  di- 
rected bad  things  to  be  made  and  distributed  ? 
But  that  which  in  ordinary  circumstances 
could  not  have  been  accomplished,  even  upon 
a  smaller  scale,  how  could  it  be  done  amidst 
so  much  confusion  ?  It  was  said  at  the  rime, 
as  we  find  in  the  records,  that  the  bread  of  the 
lazaretto  was  adulterated  with  heavy  sub- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


1S3 


stances  that  were  not  nourishing,  and  it  may 
easily  be  believed  that  this  was  not  an  idle 
story.  Even  of  water  there  was  a  want,  I  mean 
to  say  of  good  fresh  water ;  the  place  whence 
they  drew  it  from  was  the  ditch  that  went 
round  the  walls  of  the  lazaretto,  low,  almost 
stagnant,  muddy,  and  become  at  length  what 
the  use  and  contiguity  of  such  a  multitude 
could  not  fail  to  make  it. 

To  all  these  causes  of  mortality,  which  were 
more  active  on  account  of  their  operating  upon 
diseased  and  enfeebled  bodies,  a  great  perversi- 
ty in  the  season  may  be  added,  obstinate  rains, 
followed  by  a  still  more  perverse  drought,  ac- 
companied by  intense  heats.  To  actual  evils 
was  added  the  strong  sense  of  them,  the  tedi- 
ousness  and  the  hatefulness  of  imprisonment, 
the  desire  to  return  to  old  habits,  sorrow  for  dear 
friends  they  had  lost,  uneasiness  on  account  of 
their  separation  from  others,  trouble  of  mind 
and  dread  by  turns,  so  many  other  feelings  of 
consternation  and  rage,  carried  along  with 
them  or  generated  there :  then  the  apprehen- 
sion and  the  continuous  spectacle  of  death  ren- 
dered common  by  so  many  causes,  and  become 
itself  a  new  and  powerful  cause  of  the  destruc- 
tion of  life.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore, 
that  the  mortality  should  have  so  increased  and 
prevailed  in  the  lazaretto,  as  to  assume  in  the 
eyes  of  many  the  character  of  a  pestilence ; 
whether  the  union  and  augmentation  of  all 
these  causes  tended  to  increase  the  activity  of 
an  influence  purely  epidemic,  or  whether  (as 
seems  to  occur  in  dearths  less  prolonged  and 
fatal  than  this)  there  actually  existed  a  true 
contagion,  which,  in  bodies  prepared  by  po- 
verty and  unwholesome  food,  by  disease,  by 
filth,  by  distress  and  dejection  of  mind,  had 
found  the  exact  and  proper  season,  the  neces- 
sary condition  ef  things  in  fine,  to  break  out, 
feed  itself  and  increase,  (if  it  may  be  permit- 
ted to  an  ignorant  person  to  use  a  language  of 
this  kind,  after  the  hypothesis  proposed  by 
some  medical  men,  and  of  late  with  many  rea- 
sons and  much  caution,  by  a  very  ingenious 
and  attentive  observer.*)  Whether,  indeed, 
the  contagion  broke  out  at  first  in  the  lazaretto 
itself,  as  it  appears  in  an  obscure  and  inaccu- 
rate account,  the  physicians  of  the  board  of 
health  thought ;  or  whether  it  existed  and  was 
slumbering  before  that  time,  (which  seems 
most  likely  when  we  reflect  of  how  long  stand- 
ing the  general  state  of  poverty  had  been,  and 
how  frequent  the  mortality,)  and  being  carried 
there,  had  propagated  itself  with  a  new  and 
terrible  rapidity  by  the  concentration  of  bodies, 
rendered  more  apt  to  receive  it  through  the  in- 
creased efficacy  of  other  causes.  Which  ever 
of  these  conjectures  may  be  the  true  one,  the 
number  of  deaths  in  the  lazaretto  in  a  short 
time,  exceeded  one  hundred. 

Whilst  every  thing  there  was  feebleness, 
anguish,  dread,  lamentations,  and  despair,  at 
the  tribunal  of  provisions  all  was  shame,  stu- 


*  Pel  morbo  petecchiale — e  degli  altri  eontjur!  in  <re- 
nerale.    Opera  del  Dott.  F.  Enrico  Acerbi,  cap.  iii. 


pidity,  and  uncertainty.  Consultations  were 
held,  the  opinions  of  the  tribunal  of  health  were 
asked,  and  the  conclusion  was  at  length  adopted 
to  undo  all  that  had  been  done  with  so  much 
preparation,  so  much  expense,  and  so  much 
effort.  The  lazaretto  was  opened,  and  permis- 
sion being  given  to  ail  the  poor  wretches  who 
survived  and  we're  strong  enough,  to  leave  it, 
they  rushed  out  in  a  furious  sort  of  joy. 

The  old  clamor  was  now  heard  again  in  thq- 
city,  but  more  unfrequent  and  feeble ;  the 
crowd  was  again  seen,  but  more  seldom,  and 
looking  more  WTetched,  from  the  conscious- 
ness, as  Ripamonti  says,  of  its  numbers  being 
so  much  reduced.  The  weakest  were  taken 
to  Santa  Maria  della  Stella,  then  a  hospital  for 
mendicants,  where  the  greater  part  of  them 
perished. 

Meantime  the  blessed  fields  began  to  turn 
yellow ;  the  beggars  belonging  to  the  county 
of  Milan  left  the  city,  every  one  to  his  own 
home,  to  the  much  wished  for  harvest.  The 
good  Federigo  gave  them  at  parting  further 
assistance,  and  another  proof  of  his  charity : 
to  eveiy  countryman  wlio  presented  himself 
at  the  archbishoprick,  he  gave  a  giulio,*  and  a 
sickle  to  reap  with. 

The  dearth  finally  ceased  with  the  harvest : 
the  mortality,  epidemic  or  contagious,  decreas- 
ing from  day  to  day,  protracted  itself  neverthe- 
less into  the  autumn,  and  was  just  disappear- 
ing, when  a  new  scourge  broke  out. 

Many  important  matters,  such  as  are  more 
especially  entitled  to  be  called  historical,  had 
happened  meanwhile.  Cardinal  Richelieu, 
having,  as  has  been  stated,  taken  Rochelle,  and 
patched  up  a  peace  as  well  as  he  could  with 
the  king  of  England,  had  proposed  and  ob- 
tained^  with  his  powerful  influence,  in  the 
councils  of  the  king  of  France,  substantial 
succors  for  liie  duke  of  Nevers,  and  even 
persuaded  the  king  himself  to  conduct  an 
expedition  in  person.  Whilst  preparations 
were  making,  the  count  of  Nassau,  imperial 
commissary,  intimated  to  the  new  duke  in 
Mantua,  that  he  must  deliver  up  his  states  to 
Ferdinand,  or  that  an  army  would  be  sent  to 
occupy  them.  The  duke,  who  in  more  despe- 
rate circumstances,  had  refused  to  accept  con- 
ditions so  hard,  and  of  so  distrustful  a  nature, 
now  encouraged  by  th.e  promised  succors  of 
France,  still  more  obstinately  refused,  but  in 
terms  where  no  was  kept  out  of  sight  as  much 
as  possible,  and  with  proposals  of  submission 
somewhat  more  apparent,  but  of  less  costly 
nature.  The  commissary  left  Mantua,  pro- 
testing that  force  would  be  used.  In  March, 
Cardinal  Richelieu  in  fact  fell  down  upon 
Italy,  with  the  king,  at  the  head  of  an  army  : 
a  passage  was  required  from  the  duke  of  Sa- 
voy, and  some  negotiations  entered  upon, 
which  were  broken  off.  After  a  skirmish, 
where  the  French  had  the  advantage,  negotia- 
tions were  resumed,  and  an  agreement  entered 
into,  in  which  the  duke,  amongst  other  things, 

*  A  Roman  coin. 


134 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


stipulated  that  Cordova  should  raise  the  siege 
of  Casale,  engaging,  in  the  event  of  a  refusal,  to 
join  the  French  and  invade  the  duchy  of  Mi- 
lan. Don  Gonzalo,  thinking  to  extricate  him- 
self upon  excellent  terras,  immediately  broke 
up  his  camp  in  the  neighborhood  of  Casale, 
which  a  body  of  French  troops  immediately 
took  possession  of  and  garrisoned. 

It  was  upon  this  occasion  Achillini  address- 
ed to  king  Louis  his  famous  sonnet, 

"  Sudate,  o  fochi,  a  preparar  metalli." 
And  another,  where  he  exhorted  him  instantly 
to  march  to  the  liberation  of  the  holy  land. 
But  it  is  destiny  that  seems  to  have  decided 
that  the  advice  of  poets  shall  not  be  followed, 
and  wherever  you  find  any  thing  in  history 
that  has  taken  place  in  conformity  with  their 
suggestions,  you  may  fairly  suppose  it  was  de- 
termined before  hand.  Cardinal  Richelieu  had, 
just  at  that  moment,  resolved  to  return  to 
France,  on  account  of  affairs  that  appeared  to 
be  very  urgent.  Girolamo  Loranzo,  the  envoy 
of  the  Venetians,  used  the  most  powerful  ar- 
guments to  set  aside  that  determination,  but 
the  Icing  and  the  cardinal  paying  no  more  at- 
tention to  his  prose  than  they  did  to  the  poetry 
of  Achillini,  returned  home  with  the  greater 
part  of  the  army,  leaving  only  six  thousand 
men  in  Susa,  to  occupy  the  pass,  and  to  main- 
tain the  treaty. 

Whilst  the  French  army  was  drawing  off  in 
one  direction,  that  of  Ferdinand,  led  by  the 
Count  of  Collalto,  was  approaching  from 
another  quarter,  had  invaded  the  Orisons  and 
the  Valteline,  and  was  preparing  to  descend 
into  the  Milanese.  Independent  of  the  terrors 
occasioned  by  the  news  of  such  a  passage, 
there  came  also  the  sad  rumor,  that  the  plague 
wa-s  in  that  army,  of  which  at  that  time  there 
was  always  some  vestige  in  the  German  troops, 
according  to  Varchi,  when  speaking  of  that, 
which  a  century  before  had  been  brought  by 
them  to  Florence.  Alessaudro  Tadino,  one  of 
the  conservators  of  health,  (they  were  six  in 
number,  besides  the  president,  four  of  them 
magistrates,  and  two  of  them  physicians,)  was 
charged  by  the  tribunal,  as  he  himself  relates 
in  the  account  already  alluded  to,*  to  remon- 
strate to  the  governor  upon  the  dreadful  dan- 
ger which  impended  over  the  country,  if  those 
troops  were  permitted  fo  pass  on  their  way  to 
Mantua,  as  report  stated.  From  the  whole  con- 
duct of  Don  Gonzalo  it  appears  that  he  had 
a  prodigious  desire  to  inaKe  a  place  in  history 
for  himself,  which  indeed  could  not  but  occu- 
py herself  with  his  actions,  but  (as  it  frequent- 
ly happens)  she  did  not  take  the  precaution  to 
register  an  act  of  his,  singularly  worthy  of  at- 
tention, and  that  was  the  answer  he  returned 
to  Doctor  Tadino  under  these  circumstances. 
He  answered  —  that  he  knew  not  what  to  de- 
termine ;  that  the  reasons  both  of  interest  and 
reputation  which  had  put  that  army  in  motion, 


<]'•!!'  oriL-ini'  >•!  inornali  successi  dclla 
pmn  pr-ste  contagios.i,  vi>nrlic:i.  it  mali;fica,  scguila 
iiclla  citta  di  Milano  &c.  MiJano,  1848,  p.  16. 


were  of  greater  moment  than  the  danger  re- 
presented to  him  ;  but  matters  being  as  they 
were,  they  must  endeavor  to  do  the  best  they 
could,  and  must  rely  upon  Providence. 

To  make  the  best  of  it  therefore,  the  two 
physicians  of  the  tribunal  of  health,  (the  above 
mentioned  Tadino.  and  senator  Settala,  son  of 
the  celebrated  Ludovico,)  proposed,  in  the  tri- 
bunal, that  it  should  be  prohibited  under  very- 
severe  penalties,  to  purchase  any  tiling  what- 
ever from  the  soldiers  on  their  passage  ;  but  it 
was  not  possible  to  make  the  president  com- 
prehend the  expediency  of  such  an  order. 
"A  man, "says  Tadino,  "  of  much  goodness, 
who  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  that 
so  many  thousand  persons  could  come  to  their 
deaths  by  purchasing  commodities  of  these 
foreigners."  We  quote  this  trait  as  a  singular 
one  of  that  period,  for  certainly  since  tribu- 
nals of  health  have  existed,  it  never  occurred 
to  any  president  to  use  similar  reasoning,  if 
reasoning  it  can  be  called. 

As  to  Don  Gonzalo,  that  answer  was  one  of 
his  last  acts  here,  for  the  untoward  results  of 
the  war,  which  had  been  promoted  and  con- 
ducted in  a  great  degree  by  himself,  were  the 
cause  that  he  was  removed  from  that  post  the 
same  summer.  At  his  departure  from  Milan, 
a  thing  happened  that  is  noticed  by  a  cotem- 
poraneous  writer,as  the  first  of  the  kind  that  had 
occurred  there  to  one  of  his  equals.  Coining 
out  of  what  is  called  the  Palazzo  della  Citta, 
in  the  midst  of  a  great  accompaniment  of  no- 
bles, he  met  with  a  crowd  of  the  populace, 
part  of  whom  stopped  before  him  in  the  street, 
whilst  the  others  went  behind  him,  and  re- 
proached him  with  bitter  imprecations  for  the 
famine  they  had  endured,  for  the  license  he 
had  granted,  as  they  said,  to  export  grain  and 
lice  out  of  the  country.  To  his  carriage  which 
followed  in  the  rear,  they  sent  worse  things 
than  words,  stones,  bricks,  cabbage  stalks,  with 
every  sort  of  filth,  the  ordinary  ammunition  of 
frolics  of  that  kind.  Driven  back  by  the 
guards,  they  retired,  but  only,  in  augmented 
numbers,  to  run  and  gain  the  Ticinese  gate, 
which  he  was  soon  to  pass  in  his  carriage. 
When  it  appeared,  with  a  suite  of  others,  they 
showered  upon  them  all,  with  their  hands  and 
with  slings,  a  hail  storm  of  stones.  The  mat- 
ter went  no  further. 

To  supply  his  place,  the  Marquis  Ambro- 
gio  Spinola  was  sent,  whose  name  had  already 
acquired,  in  his  wars  in  Flanders,  that  military 
celebrity  which  it  yet  enjoys. 

In  the  meantime  the  German  troops  had  re- 
ceived definitive  orders  to  move  on  to  the  en- 
terprise of  Mantua,  and  in  the  month  of  Sep- 
tember it  reached  the  duchy  of  Milan. 

Armies,  at  that  period,  were  yet  for  the 
greater  part  composed  of  adventurers,  enlisted 
by  condottieri  by  profession,  under  commis- 
sion from  some  prince  or  other,  and  sometimes 
on  their  own  account,  with  a  view  to  sell 
themselves  and  their  troops.  It  was  not  so 
much  from  a  consideration  of  the  pay  they 
were  to  receive,  that  men  engaged  in  service 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


185 


of  this  kind,  as  by  the  hope  of  plunder,  and  all 
the  attractions  of  licentiousness.  There  was 
no  exact  and  general  discipline  in  an  army, 
that  would  not  have  harmonized  easily  with 
the  independent  authority  of  the  various  lead- 
ers. Individually  these  persons  were  great 
disciplinarians ;  but  if  even  they  had  been  de- 
sirous of  establishing  a  universal  discipline,  it 
is  evident  they  never  could  have  succeeded, 
for  soldiers  of  that  stamp  would  have  revolted 
against  any  innovating  condottiero,  who  had 
taken  it  into  his  head  to  abolish  sackage  and 
plunder,  or,  at  least,  would  have  left  him  alone 
to  take  care  of  the  standard.  Besides  which, 
as  these  prince?,  in  taking,  so  to  say,  a  lease 
of  those  military  bands,  were  more  solicitous 
to  have  a  sufficient  number  of  troops  to  ensure 
their  undertakings,  than  to  proportion  their 
number  to  their  ability  to  pay  them,  which 
they  seldom  possessed ;  so  the  pay  was  gene- 
rally very  tardy,  and  partial,  and  the  plunder 
of  the  countries  which  were  the  seat  of  war, 
or  through  which  the  troops  passed,  became  a 
supplementary  settlement  tacitly  agreed  upon. 
That  saying  of  Wallenstein  is  little  less  cele- 
brated than  his  own  name,  that  it  was  easier 
to  maintain  an  army  of  one  hundred  thousand 
men,  than  an  army  of  twelve  thousand.  And  the 
troops  of  which  we  are  now  speaking,  were  in 
great  measure  composed  of  men,  who  under  his 
command  had  desolated  Germany,  in  that  war 
famous  amongst  other  wars,  on  its  own  account, 
and  from  the  effects  it  produced,  from  the  thirty 
years  it  lasted,  of  which  number  it  had  now 
reached  the  eleventh.  His  own  regiment,  too, 
was  there,  led  by  one  of  his  lieutenants.  Of  the 
other  condottieri,  the  greater  part  of  them  had 
served  under  him,  and  more  than  one  of  those 
were  there,  who  four  years  after  were  to  aid 
in  bringing  him  to  that  deplorable  end  which 
every  one  is  informed  of. 

The  army  consisted  of  twenty-eight  thou- 
sand foot,  and  seven  thousand  cavalry.  De- 
scending from  the  Valteline  to  reach  the 
Mantuan  territory,  they  had  to  follow,  more 
or  less  down,  the  whole  route  of  the  Adda, 
where  it  twice  assumes  the  lake  form,  and 
again  where  it  become  j  a  river  until  it  reaches 
the  Po,  which  again  they  had  to  follow  for  a 
considerable  distance ;  they  were  eight  days 
in  the  duchy  of  Milan. 

A  great  portion  of  the  inhabitants  fled  to  the 
mountains,  carrying  with  them  their  most  va- 
luable movables,  and  driving  their  cattle: 
others  remained,  either  to  take  care  of  the  sick, 
or  to  protect  their  houses  from  being  burnt,  or 
to  keep  an  eye  on  the  precious  things  they  had 
buried  under  ground :  others  because  they  had 
nothing  to  lose,  and  some  unprincipled  fellows 
remained  behind  to  steal.  When  the  first 
squadron  arrived  at  the  appointed  station,  the 
men  dispersed  themselves,  and  pillaged  the 
place,  and  the  whole  neighborhood;  whatever 
could  be  consumed  or  carried  away,  disappear- 
ed, to  say  nothing  of  the  destruction  they 
brought  upon  other  things;  country  houses 
ransacked,  hamlets  bumt.  blows,  wounds,  and 
24 


violations.  All  sorts  of  schemes  and  defences 
to  save  their  property  were  frequently  useless, 
and  often  brought  about  worse  consequences. 
The  soldiers,  well  acquainted  with  all  the  stra- 
tagems used  in  this  war,  ransacked  the  cor- 
ners and  holes  of  every  house,  and  even  pulled 
down  the  walls ;  they  discovered  easily  in  the 
gardens  where  the  earth  had  been  newly  mov- 
ed ;  they  ascended  the  hills  to  seize  the  cattle, 
penetrated  the  grottoes,  guided  by  some  scoun- 
drel, in  search  of  some  wealthy  person  con- 
cealed there,  stript  him,  dragged  him  to  his 
house,  and  by  torturing  him  with  blows,  and 
with  threats,  forced  him  to  disclose  bis  hidden 
treasure. 

At  length  they  went  away,  and  the  sound  of 
trumpets  and  drums  was  heard  in  the  distance : 
a  moment  of  fearful  tranquillity  now  took 
place,  then  another  accursed  beating  of  drums, 
and  another  detestable  squeaking  of  fifes,  an- 
nounced another  brigade.  These,  finding 
nothing  more  to  plunder,  with  so  much  the 
more  fury  destroyed  and  wasted  what  they 
found ;  burning  the  furniture,  the  door  posts, 
beams,  tubs,  casks,  and  in  some  places  the 
houses,  and  with  still  greater  rage  seized  and 
ill  treated  individuals :  thus  matters  went  on 
from  worse  to  worse,  for  twenty  days ;  the  army 
being  divided  into  that  number  of  squadrons. 

Colico  was  the  first  place  in  the  duchy  these 
demons  invaded,  they  next  threw  themselves 
upon  Bellano,  from  thence  they  entered  and 
spread  themselves  in  Valsassina,  and  so  reach- 
ed the  territory  of  Lecco. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HERE,  amongst  the  poor  terrified  inhabitants, 
we  find  some  persons  of  our  acquaintance. 

Whoever  did  not  see  Don  Abbondio  the  day 
that  the  news  of  the  descent  of  the  army,  of  its 
approach,  and  of  its  conduct,  was  spread  all  at 
once,  can  have  but  a  very  poor  idea  of  what 
trouble  and  dread  are.  They  are  coming,  they 
are  thirty,  they  are  forty,  they  are  fifty  thou- 
sand in  number :  they  are  devils,  they  are  Ari- 
ans,  they  are  antichrists ;  they  have  sacked 
Cortenuova,  they  have  set  fire  to  Primaluna  ; 
they  have  laid  waste  Introbbio,  Parturo,  Bar- 
sio ;  they  have  been  seen  at  Balabbio ;  tomor- 
row they  will  be  here.  Such  were  the  reports 
that  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth :  and  then  what 
running  about,  what  stopping  one  another, 
what  tumultuous  consultations,  what  hesita- 
tion between  flying  and  staying,  what  assem- 
blings of  w'omen,  and  thrusting  of  fingers  into 
their  hair.  Don  Abbondio  having  made  up 
his  rnind  before  any  body  else,  and  more  deter- 
ininately  than  any  body  else,  to  fly,  in  every 
possible  way  of  flying,  and  to  every  possible 
place  of  refuge,  saw  nothing  but  the  most  in- 
superable obstacles,  and  the  most  frightful 
dangers  in  the  way.  "  What  is  to  be  done .'" 


1S6 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


he  exclaimed,  "  Where  shall  I  go  ?"  The 
mountains,  setting  aside  the  difficulties  of  the 
road,  were  not  secure  ;  it  was  already  known 
that  the  landsknechts*  could  climb  up  them 
like  cats,  in  places  where  there  was  scarce 
any  indication  of  plunder.  The  lake  was 
broad,  the  wind  was  high,  and  more  than  that, 
the  greater  part  of  the  boatmen,  afraid  of  being 
compelled  to  conduct  the  soldiers  or  their  bag- 
gage, had  fled  with  their  boats,  to  the  other 
bank :  a  few  who  had  remained  were  gone 
overloaded  with  people,  and  straining  with  the 
weight  and  the  storm,  were  reported  to  be  in 
danger  at  every  moment.  To  go  to  any  dis- 
tance, or  to  remove  from  the  road  which  the 
army  was  approaching  by,  it  was  not  possible 
to  find  either  a  calash  or  a  horse,  or  any  other 
means :  on  foot,  Don  Abbondio  could  not  get 
any  great  distance,  and  might  be  easily  over- 
taken. The  confines  of  the  Bergamasc  terri- 
tory were  not  so  distant  but  that  his  limbs 
might  carry  him  there  at  one  stretch,  but  the 
report  had  already  got  into  circulation  that  a 
squadron  of  cappelletti  had  been  despatched  in 
haste  from  Bergamo,  to  watch  the  borders, 
and  hold  the  landsknechts  in  respect :  these 
cappelletti  were  devils  incarnate,  neither 
more  nor  less  than  the  others,  and  conducted 
themselves  as  badly  as  it  was  possible  for 
them  to  do  for  their  share. 

The  poor  man  ran  about  his  house,  rolling 
bis  eyes  and  half  deranged,  following  Perpetua, 
to  concert  some  determination  or  other  with 
her;  but  Perpetua,  entirely  occupied  with 
getting  together  the  best  things  they  had,  to 
Hide  them  in  the  garret,  in  holes  and  corners, 
hurried  on,  frightened  and  worried,  with  her 
hands  and  arms  full  of  things,  and  said,  "  by 
and  by,I  will  get  these  things  put  away  in  a  sate 
place,  and  then  we  will  do  as  other  people  do." 
Don  Abbondio  wanted  to  detain  her,  and  dis- 
pute with  her  on  the  various  plans  to  adopt, 
but  she,  what  with  her  hurry,  the  terror  that  had 
got  possession  of  her,  and  the  vexation  which 
that  of  her  master  gave  her,  was  in  a  less 
tractable  humor  than  she  had  ever  been.  "  The 
others  will  contrive  something,  and  we  will 
contrive  something  too;  excuse  me,  you  do 
nothing  but  hinder  one.  Do  you  think  other 
people  have  not  got  a  skin  to  take  care  of? 
That  the  soldiers  are  coming  here  just  to  make 
war  upon  your  worship  ?  It  would  be  better  if 
you  would  lend  a  hand  and  help  a  little,  instead 
of  getting  betwixt  one's  feet,  and  crying  and 
worrying  so."  With  this  and  similar  answers, 
she  got  rid  of  him,  having  determined  in  her 
own  mind,  as  soon  as  she  got  through  that 
troublesome  operation,  that  she  would  take 
him  by  the  arm,  as  if  he  were  a  boy,  and  drag 
him  up  some  mountain.  Thus  left  alone,  he 
went  to  the  window,  looked  out,  listened,  and 
perceiving  some  one  pass,  called  out  in  a 
mourning  and  reproachful  tone, "  have  so  much 


*  In  the  middle  ages,  every  lance  that  took  the 
field  had  six  or  more  armed  followers;  hence  tins 
itnn,  from  whence  the  French  have  got  lansquenet. 


charity  for  your  poor  curate,  as  to  look  up  a 
horse  for  him,  or  a  mule,  or  an  ass.  Is  it  pos- 
sible that  no  one  will  assist  me?  Oh,  what 
people  !  Stop  lor  me  at  least,  that  I  may  come 
too,  with  you  :  stop,  till  some  fifteen  or  twenty 
of  you  have  got  together,  to  conduct  me,  that 
I  may  not  be  abandoned.  Will  you  leave  me 
to  be  devoured  by  dogs  ?  Don't  you  know 
that  the  greater  part  of  them  are  Lutherans, 
and  that  they  consider  it  a  meritorious  thing 
to  kill  a  priest?  .Do  you  mean  to  leave  me 
here  to  receive  martyrdom  ?  Oh,  what  people  ! 
Oh,  what  people!" 

But  to  whom  did  he  say  these  things  ?  To 
men  who  were  passing,  bent  under  the  weight 
of  their  poor  movables,  and  with  their  thougnts  • 
occupied  with  what  they  had  left  behind  ex- 
posed to  be  plundered  ;  or  to  some  one  driving 
his  heifer  before  him,  with  his  children  behind 
him,  laden  as  much  they  could  be,  and  the  wo- 
man bearing  in  her  arms  the  infants  that  were 
unable  to  walk.  Some  of  them  went  on, 
without  either  answering  or  looking  up,  whilst 
others  said,  "  master,  you  must  make  out  as 
well  as  you  can.  You  are  fortunate  in  having 
no  family  to  think  for,  help  yourself,  contrive 
some  way  or  other." 

"  Oh,  poor  me  !"  exclaimed  Don  Abbondio, 
"  oh,  what  people,  what  hearts  !  There  is  no 
charity,  every  one  thinks  of  himself,  no  one 
thinks  of  me."  And  then  he  turned  to  look 
after  Perpetua. 

"  Oh,  precisely  I"  said  she  to  him,  "  and  the 
money  ?" 

"  What  shall  we  do  ?" 

"  Give  it  to  me,  and  I  will  bury  it  in  the 
garden  with  the  plates  and  knives  and  forks." 

«  But " 

"But,  but,  give  it  to  me :  keep  a  few  sous 
if  you  should  happen  to  want  them,  and  let 
me  manage  with  the  rest." 

Don  Abbondio  obeyed,  he  went  to  his  strong 
chest,  took  his  little  treasure  out,  and  consign- 
ed it  to  Perpetua,  who  said,  "  I  will  go  and 
bury  it  in  tne  garden,  at  the  foot  of  the  fig 
tree,"  and  went  away.  A  short  time  aftershe 
appeared  with  a  basket  containing  provisions, 
and  a  small  empty  panier,  in  the  oottom  of 
which  she  hastily  placed  a  little  linen  for  her- 
self and  her  master,  saying,  in  the  meantime, 
"  the  breviary,  at  least,  your  worship  means  to 
take  yourself." 

"  But  where  are  we  going?" 

"Why,  where  are  alfthe  rest  going?  First 
of  all  we'll  go  into  the  street,  and  mere  we 
shall  hear  and  see  what  it  is  necessary  to  do." 

Just  at  this  moment  Agnes  came  in,  with  a 
panier  also  on  her  shoulders,  looking  as  though 
she  had  an  important  proposal  to  make. 

Agnes  also  determined  not  to  wait  for  guests 
of  that  kind,  alone  in  the  house  as  she  was, 
and  with  some  of  the  gold  left  which  she  had 
received  from  the  Un-named,  had  been  for 
some  time  hesitating  where  she  should  look 
for  refuge.  The  remains  of  the  gold  crowns, 
which  during  the  months  of  famine  had  been 
so  serviceable  to  her,  were  the  principal  cause 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


187 


of  her  fear  and  irresolution,  having  heard,  that 
in  the  countries  where  the  troops  had  passed, 
those  who  possessed  money  were  reduced  1o  a 
•  more  terrible  condition  than  any  of  the  others, 
being  exposed  both  to  the  violence  of  the 
invaders,  and  to  the  treachery  of  tht  country 
people.  It  is  true  that  the  good  fortune  which 
nad  thus,  as  it  were,  fallen  into  her  lap,  was  a 
secret  she  had  confided  to  no  one,  save  Don 
Abbondio,  to  whom  she  would  go  every  time 
it  was  necessary  to  change  one  of  her  crowns 
into  small  money,  leaving  with  him  always 
something  to  give  in  alms  to  any  one  poorer 
than  herself.  But  concealed  money,  especially 
with  those  unaccustomed  to  have  much  to  do 
with  it,  keeps  the  possessor  in  continued  ap- 
prehension of  the  suspicions  of  others.  At 
this  time,  whilst  she  was  hiding  away,  as  well 
as  she  could,  what  she  could  not  carry  along 
with  her,  and  was  thinking  of  the  crown  she 
had  sewed  up  in  her  stays,  she  remembered 
along  with  them,  that  the  Un-named  had  sent 
her  the  most  unlimited  offers  of  service,  she 
recollected  what  she  had  heard  say  of  his  cas- 
tle placed  in  so  secure  a  situation,  where, 
without  the  permission  of  its  master,  it  was 
impossible  for  any  thing  but  the  birds  to  get, 
and  she  made  up  her  mind  to  go  there  and  seek 
an  asylum.  She  reflected  how  she  could  make 
herself  known  to  that  nobleman,  and  Don  Ab- 
bondio immediately  came  to  her  mind.  Since 
his  conversation  with  the  archbishop,  he  had 
made  particular  demonstrations  of  benevolence 
to  her,  and  the  more  cordially,  since  he  was  able 
to  do  it  without  committing  himself  with  any 
body,  for  the  young  people  being  far  off,  it  was 
very  improbable  that  any  requirement  should 
be  made  of  him,  which  should  put  his  benevo- 
lence to  a  difficult  trial.  Supposing  that,  amidst 
so  much  trouble,  the  poor  man  must  be  more 
embarrassed  and'  frightened  than  herself,  and 
that  the  plan  would  appear  excellent  to  him, 
she  was  come  to  propose  it.  Having  found 
him  with  Perpetua,  she  laid  the  matter  before 
them. 

"What  do  you  say,  Perpetua?"  asked  Don 
Abbondio. 

"  I  say  that  it  is  an  inspiration  from  Heaven, 
and  that  we  must  lose  no  time,  and  set  off  di- 
rectly." 

"  And  afterwards — " 

"And  afterwards — afterwards;  when  we 
shall  be  there,we  shall  be  satisfied.  That  noble- 
man, it  is  known,  desires  nothing  better  than  to 
do  good  to  his  neighbor,  and  will  he  very  well 
content  to  give  us  an  asylum.  There  upon  the 
borders,  in  the  air,  as  it  were,  soldiers  won't 
come  certainly.  And  then  we  shall  find  some- 
thing to  eat  too,  for,  up  in  the  mountains, 
when  this  small  grace  of  God  is  finished,"  and 
saying  this,  she  placed  it  in  the  pannier  upon 
the  linen,  "  we  shall  be  badly  off  enough." 

"  Converted,  is  he  really  converted,  eh  ?" 

"  How  ?  do  you  doubt  of  it  yet,  after  all  that 
\ve  know,  and  all  that  we  have  seen  ?" 

"  And  if  we  should  be  going  just  to  put  our- 
selves in  a  cage  ?" 


"  What  cage  ?  Why  with  all  this  nonsensi- 
cal talking,  excuse  me,  you  will  never  come  to 
a  conclusion.  Well  done  Agnes,  this  is  a  capi- 
tal thought  that  has  come  into  your  head — " 
And  placing  the  pannier  upon  a  table,  she  put 
her  arm  through  the  straps,  and  slung  it  on  her 
shoulder. 

"  Could'nt  we,"  said  Don  Abbondio,  "  find 
some  man  who  would  go  as  an  escort  with  his 
curate  ?  If  we  should  meet  some  had  fellow 
on  the  road,  and  there  are  too  many  of  them 
about,  what  sort  of  help  can  you  two  women 
give  me  ?"  " 

"  There  you  are  going  on  again,  just  to  lose 
time!"  exclaimed  Perpetua.  "To  go  and  look 
for  a  man  at  this  time,  when  every  one  is  busy 
about  their  own  affairs.  Come,  go  and  get  your 
breviary  and  your  hat,  and  let  us  go." 

Don  Abbondio  went,  and  soon  returned  with 
his  breviary  under  his  arm,  his  hat  on  his  head, 
and  his  staff  in  his  hand,  and  all  three  went 
out  by  a  small  door  that  led  to  the  sacristy. 
Perpetua  shut  it,  and  not  to  omit  any  formali- 
ty, rather  than  because  she  had  much  faith  in 
the  lock  and  the  door,  locked  it,  and  put  the 
key  in  her  pocket.  Don  Abbondia  gave  a  look 
at  the  church  as  he  passed  it,  and  said  between 
his  teeth,  "it  is  the  people's  duty  to  look  after 
it,  as  it  is  for  their  service.  If  they  have  any 
feeling  for  their  church,  they  will  think  about 
it,  and  if  they  have  not,  so  may  it  be  with 
them." 

They  took  their  way  by  the  fields,  creeping 
silently  along,  each  of  them  thinking  about 
their  own  affairs,  and  loking  round,  especially 
Don  Abbondio,  to  see  if  there  was  any  suspi- 
cious person  about,  or  any  tiling  to  distrust. 
But  they  met  no  one  ;  the  people  were  either 
at  home  taking  care  of  their  houses,  making 
up  their  bundles,  hiding  things  away,  or  on  the 
road  leading  directly  to  the  heights. 

After  letting  many  sighs  and  interjections 
escape  at  different  times,  Don  Abbondio  began 
to  grumble  in  a  more  connected  manner.  He 
had  a  great  deal  to  say  against  the  duke  of 
Nevers,  who  might  have  stayed  in  France  and 
enjoyed  himselfTand  lived  like  a  prince,  but 
must  come  and  be  the  duke  of  Mantua  in  de- 
spite of  the  whole  world.  Then  he  quarreled 
with  the  emperor,  who  ought  to  have  had  sense 
enough  to  make  allowances  for  the  other's 
folly,  he  should  have  let  water  run  downwards, 
and  not  be  so  full  of  punctilio,  for  at  the  end 
of  the  account,  he  would  always  have  been 
emperor,  whether  Tizio  or  Sempronio  was 
duke.  Above  all  he  had  to  say  against  the 
governor,  whose  duty  it  was  to  have  done 
every  thing,  to  have  kept  this  scourge  out  of 
the  country,  and  it  was  him  who  had  brought 
it  there,  all  for  the  love  of  making  war." 
"  They  ought  all  of  them  to  have  been  here," 
said  he,  "  to  see  what  that  sort  of  love  brings 
about.  They  have  a  fine  account  to  render ! 
In  the  meantime,  those  are  suffering,  who  have 
nothing  at  all  to  do  with  it." 

"  Let  these  great  people  alone,  since  they 
are  none  of  them  coming  here  to  nelp  us," 


138 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


said  Perpetua,  "These,"  excuse  me,  "are 
some  of  your  usual  gossipings  that  come  to  no 
conclusions.  That  which  most  vexes  me 
rather — " 

"  Why  what  is  the  matter  ?" 
Perpetua,  who,  during  the  wWk,  had  been 
passing  over  quietly  in  her  mind,  the  hiding  of 
so  many  things  in  such  haste,  began  to  com- 
plain that  she  had  forgotten  such  a  thing,  had 
not  concealed  another  thing  well,  and  had  left 
some  traces  in  another  place,  that  might  guide 
the  thieves  to  them,  and — 

"  Brava !  said  Don  Abbondio,  having  by  de- 
grees comforted  himself  about  his  life,  enough 
to  afford  to  be  a  little  miserable  about  his  pro- 
perty, "  brava !  that  is  the  way  you  have  done 
things,  eh  ?  Where  was  your  head  all  this 
time  ?" 

"  How !"  exclaimed  Perpetua,  stopping  for 
a  moment,  and  putting  her  arms  a  kimbo,  as 
much  as  the  pannier  permitted  her  to  do, 
"  How  !  you  must  make  me  these  reproaches 
now,  when  it  was  you  that  made  me  lose  my 
head,  instead  of  helping  me,  and  giving  me 
courage !  I  have  thought  more  about  the 
things  of  the  house  perhaps,  than  of  my  own, 
and  have  had  nobody  to  lend  me  a  hand :  I 
have  had  to  be  both  Martha  and  Magdalen ;  if 
any  thing  goes  wrong,  I  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it ;  I  have  done  more  than  my  duty." 

Anges  interrupted  the  dispute,  and  began  to 
talk  about  her  own  misfortunes :  she  did  not 
complain  so  much  of  her  fatigue  and  of  the 
injury  she  would  receive,  as  sne  was  grieved 
at  seeing  the  hope  vanish  away,  which  she  had 
entertained  of  soon  embracing  her  Lucia,  who, 
it  will  be  remembered,  she  had  agreed  to  meet 
precisely  that  autumn.  It  was  not  to  be  sup- 
posed that  Donna  Prasede  would  come  to  pass 
the  season  in  the  country  under  these  circum- 
stances, it  was  rather  to  be  expected  she  had 
left  the  country,  if  she  had  been  there,  as  all 
the  other  families  had  done. 

The  sight  of  the  places  they  passed  by, 
made  these  reflections  still  more  acute  in  the 
mind  of  Agnes,  and  her  inclination  stronger 
to  see  her.  Having  left  the  field  paths,  they 
took  the  public  road,  the  same  by  which  the 
poor  woman  had  come,  so  short  a  time  ago, 
when  she  had  reconducted  her  daughter  home 
after  spending  the  few  days  with  ner  at  the 
tailors.  Already  the  village  was  in  sight. 

"  We  will  go  and  ask  those  good  people  how 
they  are,"  said  Agnes.  "  And  to  rest  a  little, 
for  I  begin  to  get  tired  of  this  pannier,  and 
should  like  to  eat  a  mouthful,"  said  Perpetua. 

"  Upon  condition  that  we  waste  no  time,  for 
this  is  not  a  journey  of  pleasure  by  any  means," 
said  Don  Abbondio. 

They  were  received  with  open  arms,  and 
seen  with  great  pleasure,  for  they  called  up  the 
remembrance  of  a  good  action.  Do  good  as 
often  as  you  can,  says  our  author  here,  and  it 
will  the  more  frequently  happen  to  you  to  meet 
cheerful  countenances. 

Agnes,  embracing  the  good  woman,  broke 
out  into  tears,  which  were  a  great  relief  to  her, 


and  answered  with  sobs  to  the  questions  which 
she  and  her  husband  put  to  her  about  Lucia. 

"  She  is  better  off  than  we  are,"  said  Don 
Abbondio,  "  she  is  at  Milan,  out  of  danger, 
and  far  from  all  these  troubles  of  the  devil's 
own  making." 

"  You  are  running  away,  eh,  the  Signer  cu- 
rate and  his  company  ?  "  said  the  tailor." 

"  To  be  sure,"  replied  at  once  both  master 
and  servant. 

"I  pity  you." 

"  We  are  on  our  road,"  said  Don  Abbondio, 
to  the  castle  of — " 

"  You  have  decided  wisely,  you  will  be  as 
safe  there  as  in  paradise." 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  here  ?"  asked  Don  Ab- 
bondio. 

"  I  will  tell  you.  Signer  curate.  To  get  the 
rights  of  hospitality,  as  your  worship  knows 
we  say  in  polite  language,  it  is  not  their  place 
to  come  here  ;  we  are  too  far  out  of  their  road, 
thanks  be  to  Heaven.  At  the  most,  a  few  strag- 
glers, which  God  will  protect  us  from ;  but 
any  how  we  have  always  time,  we  shall  always 
get  some  news  about  them  from  the  poor  towns 
where  their  regular  quarters  will  be  establish- 
ed." 

It  was  now  determined  to  repose  themselves 
a  little  there,  and  as  it  was  dinner  time,  the 
tailor  said,  "  You  must  honor  my  poor  table, 
and  no  ceremony,  you  will  find  a  dish  of  wel- 
come there." 

Perpetua  said  she  had  something  with  her 
to  break  their  iasts,  and  after  some  mutual  for- 
malities, they  agreed  to  put  every  tiling  to- 
gether and  to  dine  in  company. 

The  children  got  round  their  old  friend  Ag- 
nes in  great  glee.  The  tailor  immediately 
fold  one  of  the  little  girls,  (she  who  carried 
the  kindness  that  God  sent  through  them  to 
he  widow  Maria ;  who  knows  whether  you  re- 
member it  or  not  ? )  to  go  and  strip  the  husks 
off  a  few  early  chestnuts,  that  were  lying  in 
a  corner,  and  roast  them. 

'  And  you,"  said  he  to  a  boy,  "  go  to  the 
warden,  and  give  the  peach  tree  a  shake  just 
enough  to  bring  three  or  four  down,  and  brine 
:hem  here,  all  of  them,  do  you  here  me  ?  Ana 
jo  you  to  the  fig  tree,"  said  he  to  another,  "  and 
rather  a  few  of  them,  you  know  how  to  do 
ftat  better  than  you  ought.  He  then  went  to 
tap  a  small  barrel  he  had,  and  his  wife  to  get  a 
clean  table  cloth.  Perpetua  now  took  the  pro- 
visions from  her  pannier,  and  the  table  was  set 
A  napkin  and  a  plate  of  delf  ware  were  put 
at  the  place  of  honor  before  Don  Abbondio, 
with  Don  Abbondio's  knife  that  Perpetua  had 
n  the  pannier.  They  now  sat  down  and  dined; 
f  not  very  merrily,  at  least  with  much  more 
cheerfulness  than  any  of  the  guests  expected 
:o  feel  on  that  day. 

"  Signer  curate,  what  does  your  worship  say 
of  such  a  disperson  as  this  ?"  said  the  tailor 
"  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  was  reading  the  stories 
about  the  Moors  in  France." 

'  What  can  I  say  ?  This  must  fall  upon  my 
shoulders  too." 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


18? 


"  But  you  have  chosen  a  good  asylum,"  he 
went  on.  "  Who  is  there  can  get  up  to  that 
place  by  force  ?  You  will  find  some  company 
(here  too,  we  hear  a  great  many  have  taken 
refuge  there,  and  that  they  are  still  flocking 
there." 

"I  must  hope,"  said  Don  Abbondio,  "that 
we  shall  be  well  received.  I  know  the  wor- 
thy master  of  that  castle,  and  when  upon 
another  occasion  I  had  the  honor  of  being  with 
him,  he  was  exceedingly  kind." 

"  And  to  me,"  said  Agnes,  "  he  sent  word 
by  Monsignorillustrissimo,  that  when  I  should 
be  in  want  of  any  thing,  I  had  nothing  to  do 
but  to  go  to  him." 

"A  most  wonderful  conversion  !"  said  Don 
Abbondio,  "  and  he  perseveres,  is  it  not  true  ? 
hejperseveres." 

The  tailor  now  gave  a  long  account  of  the 
holy  life  led  by  the  Un-named,  and  how  from 
being  the  scourge  of  the  neighborhood,  he  had 
become  the  example  and  benefactor. 

"  And  all  those — people — that  he  had  with 
him — his  family — "  said  Don  Abbondio,  who 
had  more  than  once  heard  something  about 
them,  but  had  never  felt  sufficiently  assured. 

"  They  are  dispersed  for  the  greater  part," 
replied  the  tailor,  "  and  those  who  remain,  are 
quite  changed,  and  in  what  a  way !  In  fact  the 
castle  has  oecome  a  perfect  Thebaid ;  your 
worship  knows  what  that  means." 

Then  he  began  to  recall  with  Agnes  the 
visit  of  the  cardinal.  "  A  great  man ! "  said 
he,  "  a  great  man  !  it  is  a  pity  that  he  went 
away  in  such  a  hurry,  that  I  could'nt  even  pay 
him  a  little  honor.  How  much  I  should  like 
to  talk  to  him  again  more  at  my  ease  !" 

Having  arisen  from  table,  he  pointed  to  a 
printed  figure  of  the  cardinal,  which  was  hang- 
ing to  one  of  the  posts  of  the  door,  in  venera- 
tion of  the  personage,  and  also  as  it  gave  him 
an  opportunity  of  saying  to  every  one  who 
came  to  see  him,  that  the  figure  did  not  resem- 
ble him,  for  he  had  been  able  to  examine  him 
nearly  and  at  his  leisure,  when  the  cardinal 
was  in  that  very  room. 

"Do  they  mean  to  say  that  this  thing  was 
made  for  him  2"  said  Agnes,  the  dress  to  be 
sure  does  look  like,  but — " 

"  Is'nt  it  true  that  it  is  not  like  him  ?"  said 
the  tailor, "  that  is  just  what  I  always  say,  but 
if  there  is  nothing  else,  there  is  his  name  un- 
der it,  and  it  is  a  memorial." 

Don  Abbondio  was  getting  impatient,  and 
the  tailor  engaged  to  find  a  cart  that  should 
take  them  to  the  foot  of  the  ascent :  having 
gone  out  to  procure  it,  he  soon  returned  to  say 
it  was  coming.  "  Signer  curate,"  said  he  to 
Don  Abbondio,  "  if  your  worship  wishes  to 
carry  some  book  there  to  pass  the  time,  I  can 
serve  you  in  a  poor  sort  of  way,  for  I  amuse 
myself  a  little  with  reading  too,  common  books 
however,  not  suited  to  your  worship,  still — " 
"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  replied  Don  Ab- 
bondio, "  there  are  circumstances  where  one 
has  scarcely  head  enough  left  to  attend  to  what 
one's  duty  requires." 


Whilst  they  were  changing  civilities,  condo- 
lences and  good  auguries,  invitations  and  pro- 
mises to  make  a  short  stop  on  their  return,  the 
cart  came  to  the  door.  The  panniers  were  now 
put  in  it,  they  got  in,  and  undertook,  with  a 
little  more  tranquillity  of  mind,  the  remaining 
portion  of  their  journey. 

The  tailor  had  said  the  truth  to  Don  Abbon- 
dio about  the  Un-named.  From  the  day  that 
we  took  leave  of  him,  he  had  always  continued 
to  do  what  he  had  proposed  to  himself,  to  com- 
pensate injuries,  seek  for  peace,  succor  the 
poor,  and  do  good  wherever  it  occurred  to 
him.  The  courage  he  had  at  other  times  de- 
monstrated in  offending  others  and  in  defend- 
ing himself,  he  now  showed  in  abstaining  from 
doing  either  one  or  the  other.  He  was  no 
longer  armed,  and  went  about  always  alone, 
ready  to  meet  all  the  possible  consequences  of 
so  much  violence  perpetrated,  and  convinced 
that  it  would  be  committing  a  new  one,  to  use 
force  in  defence  of  a  head,  debtor  in  so  much, 
and  in  so  many  things.  He  was  persuaded  that 
every  injury  done  to  himself,  would  be  an  of- 
fence to  God,  but  in  respect  to  himself  a  just 
retribution,  and  that  he  of  all  other  men  had 
the  least  claim  to  be  the  avenger  of  injuries 
done  to  himself.  Notwithstanding  this,  he  re- 
mained not  less  inviolable  than  when  he  kept  so 
many  persons  armed  for  his  own  security,  and 
was  armed  himself.  The  recollection  of  his 
ancient  ferocity,  and  the  contemplation  of  his 
present  gentleness,  the  former,  which  would 
necessarily  seem  to  have  left  so  many  desires 
of  vengeance,  the  latter  which  softened  them 
so  much,  conspired,  instead,  to  create  an  admi- 
ration of  him,  that  became  his  principal  safe- 
guard. He  was  the  man  whom  no  one  had 
been  able  to  humble,  but  who  had  humbled 
himself.  The  rancor,  which  had  been  for- 
merly irritated  by  his  scorn,  and  by  the  fear  in 
which  he  was  held,  had  now  disappeared  be- 
fore this  new  humility  which  those  he  had 
offended  were  the  witnesses  of,  beyond  all  ex- 
pectation, and  without  any  danger  to  them- 
selves, a  satisfaction  they  never  could  have 
promised  themselves  from  the  most  successful 
revenge,  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  a  man  la- 
menting for  the  wrongs  he  had  done,  and 
sharing,  as  it  were,  their  own  indignation. 

More  than  one,  whose  bitterest  and  most  in- 
;ense  vexation  had  been,  for  many  years,  to 
see  no  probability  of  ever  being  more  power- 
:ul  than  himself,  that  they  might  be  avenged, 
now,  when  they  met  him  alone,  unarmed,  and 
with  the  deportment  of  one  who  would  offer 
no  resistance,  felt  no  other  inclination  in  them- 
selves but  to  offer  him  demonstrations  of  hon- 
or. In  this  voluntary  abasement,  his  presence 
and  countenance  had  acquired,  without  his 
being  aware  of  it,  something  that  was  lofty 
and  noble,  for  there  appeared  in  him  more 
conspicuously  than  at  any  other  time,  the 
absence  of  all  fear.  The  most  obstinate  and 
coarse  hatreds  were  restrained  too  and  kept  in 
respect,  by  the  public  veneration  for  a  peni- 
tent and  beneficent  man  And  so  much  was 


190 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


this  the  case,  that  he  was  frequently  embar- 
rassed to  avoid  the  demonstrations  that  were 
made  to  him,  and  was  obliged  to  be  careful 
that  his  internal  feeling  of  compunction,  and 
his  abasement,  should  not  be  too  strongly 
marked  in  his  countenance  and  in  his  actions, 
that  he  might  not  be  too  much  exalted.  In  the 
church  he  nad  selected  for  himself  the  lowest 
place,  and  well  it  was  that  no  one  ever  at- 
tempted to  occupy  it,  it  would  have  been  like 
usurping  a  post  of  honor  from  him.  To  offend 
such  a  man,  or  even  treat  him  irreverently, 
seemed  to  be  not  only  a  base  thing  or  a  crime, 
but  a  piece  of  sacrilege ;  and  they  themselves, 
to  whom  this  feeling  on  the  part  of  others 
served  as  a  restraint,  even  partook  of  it  more 
or  less. 

These  and  other  causes  averted  from  him 
also  the  more  distant  animadversion  of  the 
public  authority,  and  procured  him,  even  from 
this  quarter,  a  security  about  which  he  gave 
himself  no  trouble.  His  rank  and  connexions, 
which  had  in  all  times  been  of  advantage  to 
him,  were  now  still  more  so,  since  to  his  name, 
already  illustrious  and  notorious,  was  added 
personal  recommendations,  and  the  glory  of 
bis  conversion.  The  magistrates  and  the  chief 
men  had  publicly  rejoiced  at  this,  as  well  as 
the  people ;  and  it  would  have  appeared  strange 
to  have  persecuted  a  man  who  was  the  subject 
of  so  many  congratulations.  Besides  a  magis- 
tracy occupied  in  a  perpetual  contest,  and  too 
often  an  unfortunate  one,  with  existing:  rebel- 
ions,  and  others  springing  up,  might  oe  well 
satisfied  with  being  freed  from  the  most  in- 
domptable  and  troublesome  of  them  all,  and 
need  not  go  to  look  out  for  more ;  especially 
since  that  conversion  produced  reparations 
which  the  authorities  were  not  accustomed  to 
obtain,  nor  in  the  habit  of  requiring.  To  tor- 
ment a  saint,  did  not  appear  a  proper  method 
of  getting  rid  of  the  shame  of  not  having  been 
able  to  subdue  a  sinner,  and  such  an  attempt 
upon  him,  could  have  produced  no  other  effect 
than  of  deterring  men  like  him  from  becom- 
ing inoffensive.  Probably,  too,  the  part  which 
cardinal  Federigo  had  had  in  his  conversion, 
and  the  association  of  his  name  with  that  of 
the  converted  man,  had  served  him  as  a  bless- 
ed shield.  And  in  that  state  of  things  and 
ideas,  in  that  singular  relation  of  the  spiritual 
authority  and  the  civil  power,  which  had  such 
frequent  struggles  without  ever  thinking  of 
destroying  each  other,  nay,  mingling  always 
wilh  their  hostilities,  acts  of  kindness,  and 
protestations  of  deference,  and  which,  very 
frequently  persevered  together  to  a  mutual 
end  without  ever  making  peace ;  it  might 
seem,  in  a  certain  manner,  that  the  reconcilia- 
tion of  the  first,  carried  with  it  the  oblivion, 
if  not  the  absolution,  of  the  second,  when  it 
alone  had  operated  to  produce  an  end  desired 
by  both. 

Thus  the  man  upon  whom,  if  he  had  fallen, 
great  and  small  would  have  rushed  to  smite, 
having  voluntarily  laid  down,  was  spared  by 
all,  and  reverenced  by  many. 


It  is  true  there  were  still  many,  to  whom 
that  wonderful  change  gave  any  thing  but  sat- 
isfaction ;  so  many  pensioned  perpetrators  of 
crime,  so  many  other  companions  in  it,  who 
now  lost  a  powerful  auxiliary  on  whom  they 
had  been  accustomed  to  rely,  and  who  now 
found  the  thread  of  many  plots  broken,  which 
had  been  laid  long  ago,  at  the  very  moment 
they  were  expecting  news  of  their  success. 
But  we  have  already  seen  what  various  feel- 
ings this  conversion  had  produced  in  the  ban- 
dits that  Jived  with  their  master,  when  they 
heard  it  announced  from  his  own  mouth ;  as- 
tonishment, grief,  consternation,  vexation,  a 
little  of  every  thing  save  contempt  or  hatred. 
The  same  occurrea  with  those  whom  he  kept 
dispersed  in  different  places,  and  those  who 
were  his  accomplices  in  greater  affairs,  as  soon 
as  they  heard  tne  terrible  news,  and  all  from 
the  same  causes.  The  hatred  they  felt,  as  we 
find  from  Ripamonti,  fell  rather  upon  cardinal 
Federigo.  Tney  looked  upon  him  as  a  man  who 
had  interfered  in  their  affairs — as  an  enemy; 
as  to  the  Un-named  he  had  merely  wanted  to 
save  his  soul,  and  no  one  had  any  right  to  com- 
plain of  him. 

One  after  another,  the  greater  part  of  the  do- 
mestic Bravos,  not  being  able  to  accommodate 
themselves  to  the  new  discipline,  and  seeing  no 
probability  of  a  change  being  effected,  had  left 
the  castle ;  some  seeking  another  master,  per- 
haps amongst  the  old  friends  of  him  they  had 
left;  some  enlisting  among  the  Spanish  or 
Mantovan  soldiers,  or  some  other  belligerent 
party ;  some  perhaps  had  taken  to  the  road,  to 
make  war  on  a  smaller  scale,  and  on  their  own 
account,  whilst  others  were  satisfied  to  carry 
on  their  thieving  independent  of  control ;  and 
in  like  manner  those  who  were  under  his  or- 
ders in  various  places  made  their  arrangments. 
Of  those  who  had  been  able  to  reconcile  them- 
selves to  this  new  kind  of  life,  or  who  had  em- 
braced it  cordially,  the  greater  part  natives  of 
the  valley,  had  returned  to  the  cultivation  of 
the  fields,  or  to  the  trades  which  they  had  learnt 
before  they  became  bandits.  The  foreigners 
remained  in  the  castle  as  domestic  servants, 
returning  to  the  blessings  of  civilization  along 
with  their  master,  and  passing  their  time  as  he 
did,  without  doing  or  receiving  injuries,  un- 
armed and  respected. 

But  when  on  the  invasion  of  the  German 
troops,  some  of  those  who  were  flying  before 
them,  came  to  the  castle  to  seek  an  asylum,  he 
delighted  that  his  walls  should  be  sought  as  a 
refuge  by  the  oppressed,  which  they  had  so 
long  looked  upon  from  afar  with  dread,  receiv- 
ed the  wanderers,  with  expressions  of  grati- 
tude rather  than  courtesy,  and  caused  it  to  be 
known,  that  his  mansion  would  be  open  to 
whoever  chose  to  fly  there,  and  immediately 
set  about  not  only  putting  it,  but  the  whole 
valley  in  a  state  of  defence,  lest  any  landsk- 
nechts  or  cappelletti  should  come  after  them 
to  hurt  them.  He  collected  the  servants  who 
had  remained  with  him,  few  but  excellent,  like 
the  verses  of  Torti,  and  addressed  them  upon 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


191 


the  good  opportunity  which  God  had  given  to 
them  and  him,  to  employ  themselves  in  the 
service  of  their  neighbors,  whom  they  had  so 
often  oppressed  and  alarmed,  and  with  that  an- 
cient tone  of  command,  that  -expressed  the 
certainty  of  obedience,  announced  to  them 
generally  what  he  wished  them  to  do,  and 
above  all  things  prescribed  to  them  to  restrain 
themselves,  that  the  people  who  came  there  to 
seek  refuge,  might  see  in  them  only  friends 
and  defenders.  He  then  caused  fire  arms, 
swords,  and  spears,  to  be  brought  down  from  a 
room  near  the  roof,  which  for  some  time  had 
been  heaped  up  there,  and  distributed  them 
amongst  them :  his  country  people  and  tenants 
of  the  valley,  who  desired  it,  were  told  to 
come  with  their  arms  to  the  castle,  and  those 
who  had  none,  were  furnished  by  him.  Some 
were  selected  as  officers,  and  had  others  placed 
under  them  again ;  posts  were  assigned  to 
them,  at  the  entrance  and  at  various  parts  of 
the  valley,  upon  the  mountain  side,  and  at  the 
gates  of  the  castle  :  he  arranged  the  times  and 
manner  of  relieving  them  as  in  camps,  and  as 
the  usage  had  been  there  before,  when  he  led 
«o  desperate  a  life. 

In  a  corner  of  the  room  near  the  roof,  there 
were,  separated  from  the  heap,  the  arms  which 
he  alone  had  worn,  his  famous  carbine,  mus- 
kets, swords,  broadswords,  pistols,  knives,  dag- 
gers, laid  on  the  floor,  or  hung  on  the  walls. 
The  servants  touched  none  of  them,  but  agreed 
to  ask  their  master  which  of  them  they  should 
bring  him,  "  none  of  them,"  replied  he,  and 
whether  he  made  a  vow,  or  because  it  was  his 
intention,  he  always  went  without  arms,  at  the 
head  of  such  a  garrison  as  we  have  described. 

At  the  same  time,  he  had  set  to  work  other 
men  and  women  of  the  family  and  who  de- 
pended upon  him,  to  prepare  lodgings  in  the 
castle  for  as  many  persons  as  it  was  possible, 
to  set  up  beds,  matresses,  and  bags  of  straw, 
in  all  the  rooms  and  halls,  which  were  turned 
into  dormitories.  He  had  given  orders  for  an 
abundant  supply  of  provisions,  to  feed  the 
guests  whom  God  should  send  him,  and  who 
in  fact  kept  constantly  augmenting.  He  was 
never  still  a  moment,  in  and  out  ot  the  castle, 
up  and  down  the  hill,  and  around  the  valley,  to 
establish,  strengthen,  and  visit  the  posts,  to 
see,  and  to  let  himself  be  seen,  to  put  and  to 
keep  every  thing  in  order  with  his  words,  his 
eyes,  and  his  presence.  At  home,  on  the  road, 
he  received  all  comers  that  he  met ;  and  all, 
who  had  seen  him  before,  or  who  saw  him  for 
the  first  time,  looked  at  him  with  ecstacy,  for- 
getting for  a  moment  the  woes  and  the  fears 
that  had  driven  them  there,  and  turned  again 
to  look  at  him,  as  soon  as  he,  having  parted 
with  them,  pursued  his  way. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

ALTHOUGH  the  greatest  concourse  was  not 
in  the  direction  that  our  three  fugitives  had 


taken  towards  the  valley,  but  at  its  opposite 
end,  still  at  this  last  stage,  they  began  to  fall 
in  with  companions  in  their  journey  and  in 
misfortune,  who  from  cross  roads  and  paths 
were  getting  into  the  high  road.  In  circum- 
stances like  these,  people  who  meet  each  other 
form  an  acquaintance.  Each  time  that  the  cart 
came  up  with  a  person  on  foot,  mutual  inquir- 
ies and  answers  were  exchanged.  Some,  like 
our  travelers,  had  run  away  without  waiting 
the  arrival  of  the  soldiers,  some  had  waited 
until  they  had  heard  the  drums  and  trumpets  ; 
some  had  heard  the  soldiers  themselves,  and 
gave  a  description  of  them  such  as  terrified 
people  usually  do. 

"  We  are  very  unfortunate,"  said  the  two- 
women,  "  we  thank  God ;  let  the  things  go ;  at 
least  we  have  got  ourselves  out  of  the  way." 

But  Don  Aobondia  did  not  find  so  much 
cause  for  congratulation  ;  nay,  the  concourse 
of  people,  and  the  still  greater  one  which  he 
heard  approaching  from  the  other  side,  began 
to  annoy  him ! 

"  Oh,"  what  a  business  is  this  he  murmured 
to  the  women,  at  a  moment  when  there  was  no- 
one  near,  "  Oh,  what  a  business  !"dont  you 
comprehend,  that  to  collect  so  many  people  in 
one  place,  is  Just  the  same  thing  as  to  bring  the 
soldiers  there  by  force  ?  All  are  hiding,  all  are 
carrying  away,  there  is  nothing  left  in  the 
houses,  they  will  think  there  are  treasures  up 
in  the  castle.  They  are  sure  to  come  there. 
Oh,  poor  me  !  What  an  affair  have  I  embarked 
in  !"  "Go  up  to  the  castle  ?"  said  Perpetua, 
"  they  will  have  to  follow  the  road  they  have 
taken :  besides  I  have  always  heard,  that  in 
danger,  it  is  always  better  to  be  many." 

"  Many.be  many  !"  replied  Don  Abbondio, 
"  silly  woman !  Don't  you  know  that  every 
landsknecht  would  eat  a  hundred  such  ?  And 
then,  if  they  were  to  commit  any  extravagan- 
ces, it  would  be  a  pretty  piece  of  business,  eh  ? 
to  be  in  the  midst  of  a  battle.  Oh,  poor  me  !  it 
would  have  been  better  to  have  gone  to  the 
mountains.  What  do  they  all  want  to  go  to  one 
place  for?  Stupid  creatures!"  and  then  he 
Crumbled  in  a  lower  tone,  "every  body  is 
here,  see,  see,  see  ;  one  behind  the  other  like 
animals  without  any  sense." 

"At  that  rate,"  said  Agnes,  "even  they 
might  say  the  same  thing  of  us." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  Don  Abbondio, 
"all  this  prating  serves  no  purpose  at  all. 
What  is  done,  is  done  ;  here  we  are,  and  here 
we  must  stay !  It  must  be  as  Providence 
^leases;  God  send  we  may  have  good  luck." 

But  it  was  much  worse,  when  at  the  en- 
.ranee  of  the  valley,  he  perceived  a  post  of 
armed  men,  some  of  them  at  the  door  of  a 
louse,  and  part  of  them  in  their  quarters  in 
he  lower  rooms.  He  took  a  peep  at  them,  and 
perceived  they  were  not  the  same  faces  he  had 
seen,  at  his  former  unhappy  trip  to  the  valley, 
or  if  they  were  the  same,  they  were  very  much, 
changed,  nevertheless  it  is  difficult  to  describe 
what  trouble  the  sight  of  them  gave  him.  Oh, 
joorme  !  thought  he, — see  what  foolish  doings 


192 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


are  going  on.  Indeed,  how  could  it  be  other- 
wise ;  I  ought  to  have  expected  such  things 
from  such  a  man  as  he  is.  But  what  does  he 
want  to  do  ?  Does  he  want  to  make  war  ? — 
Does  he  want  to  be  king,  eh  ?  Oh,  poor  me  ! 
Just  at  a  time  when  one  would  be  glad  to  be 
buried  under  ground,  he  is  contriving  all  sorts 
of  ways  for  people  to  see  him,  just  to  invite 
them  to  come  here  !" 

"  See  now,  master,"  said  Perpetua  to  him, 
"  see  what  brave  people  there  are,  that  will  be 
able  to  defend  us.  Let  the  soldiers  come.  The 
folks  here  are  not  like  our  clowns,  who  can  only 
just  move  their  limbs." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,"  answered  Don  Abbon- 
dio, in  an  angry  and  low  tone  of  voice,  "  be  si- 
lent. You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about.  Pray  to  Heaven  that  the  soldiers  may'nt 
stop  any  where  to  hear  what  is  going  on  here, 
and  that  they  are  putting  things  in  order  just 
as  if  it  was  a  fortress.  Don't  you  know  that 
the  business  of  a  soldier  is  to  take  fortresses  ? 
That's  all  they  want ;  for  them  to  go  to  an  as- 
sault, is  like  another  person  going  to  a  wed- 
ding, for  all  that  they  find  there  they  make 
free  with,  and  they  put  every  body  to  the 
sword.  Oh,  poor  me!  Well,  I'll  see  if  there 
is  no  way  of  making  myself  safe  by  getting  on 
the  top  of  one  of  them  peaks.  They  shall  not 
catch  me  in  one  of  their  battles  :  oh,  they  shall 
not  catch  me  in  one  of  their  battles."  "  Are 
you  afraid  too  of  being  defended  and  assisted  ?" 
Perpetua  continued  ;  out  Don  Abbondio  inter- 
rupted her  sharply,  yet  always  in  a  low  voice, 
"  hold  your  tongue,  and  mind  you  don't  men- 
tion what  we  have  been  saying !  Remember 
that  here  you  must  always  put  on  a  cheerful 
face,  and  appear  to  approve  of  every  thing 
that  is  going  on." 

At  Malanotte  they  found  another  post  of 
armed  men,  whom  Don  Abbondio  very  hum- 
bly saluted  with  his  hat,  saying  in  his  heart, — 
alas,  alas,  here  I  have  got  into  the  midst  of  a 
camp!  Here  the  cart  stopped,  and  they  got 
out.  Don  Abbondio  paid  the  man  who  drove 
them  and  dismissed  him,  and  began  the  ascent 
without  uttering  a  word.  The  sight  of  those 

E  laces  kept  awakening  in  his  mind,  and  ining- 
ng  with  his  present  distress,  the  remembrance 
of  that  he  had  suffered  when  he  was  here  be- 
fore. And  Agnes,  who  had  never  been  here, 
and  who  had  formed  to  herself  a  fantastic  pic- 
ture of  the  place,  every  time  she  thought  pi  the 
things  that  nad  taken  place  here,  beholding  it 
now  in  reality,  experienced  a  new  and  more 
lively  feeling  of  those  painful  recollections. — 
"  Oh,  signer  curate!"  she  exclaimed,  "  to  think 
only  that  iny  poor  Lucia  has  passed  over  this 
ground!"  Will  you  hold  your  tongue?  Wo- 
man without  discretion !"  he  cried  into  her  ear, 
"are  these  things  to  speak  of  here  in  the  camp  ? 
Don't  you  know  that  we  are  here  in  his  house  ? 
It  is  lucky  that  no  one  hears  us,  but  if  you 
talk  at  this  rate  " — 

"Oh !"  said  Agnes,  " but  he  is  a  saint." 
"Hold  your  tongue,  I  say,  "replied  he," 
do  vou  believe  thai  saints  are  to  be  told,  with- 


out restraint,  every  thing  that  comes  into  one's 
head  ?  Think  rather  of  thanking  him  for  the 
good  he  has  done  to  you." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  I  had  thought  about  it  al- 
ready. Does  your  reverence  tliink  I  have  got 
no  breeding  at  all?" 

"  Good  breeding  consists  in  not  saying  things 
that  are  disagreeable,  especially  to  those  that 
are  not  accustomed  to  hear  them.  And  un- 
derstand well,  both  of  you,  that  this  is  no  place 
to  play  the  vixen,  and  to  be  saying  every  thing 
that  comes  into  your  head.  It  is  the  house  ot 
a  great  nobleman,  you  know  that.  See  what 
sort  of  a  family  he  has  got  about  him,  people 
of  all  kinds  here  ;  so  use  a  little  judgment,  if 
you  have  got  any  :  weigh  your  words,and  above 
all,  make  use  of  very  lew,  and  only  when  there 
is  a  necessity  for  them,  for  silence  makes  no 
mistakes." 

"  Your  worship  does  a  great  deal  worse  with 
all  these" — Perpetua  was  beginning  to  say.but, 
"  hush  !"  said  Don  Abbondio,  into  her  ear,  and 
taking  his  hat  off  at  the  same  instant,  made  a 
profound  bow,  for  looking  up  he  had  perceiv- 
ed the  Un-named  coming  down  to  meet  them. 
He  also  had  perceived  Don  Abbondio,  and  re- 
cognized him,  and  made  haste  to  join  him. 

"  Signor  curate,"  he  said,  when  he  drew 
near,  "  I  should  have  wished  to  have  offered 
you  my  house  upon  a  more  happy  occasion, 
but  in  every  way  I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  serve 
you  in  something." 

"  I  confide  in  the  great  goodness  of  Vossig- 
noria  illustrissima,"  answered  Don  Abbondio, 
"  I  have  been  so  bold  in  these  sad  circumstan- 
ces as  to  trouble  you,  and  as  Vossignoria  illus- 
trissima sees,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  too  of 
bringing  company  with  me.  This  is  my  house- 
keeper. 

"  She  is  very  welcome,"  said  the  Un-named. 

"And  this,"  continued  Don  Abbondio,  is  a 
female,  to  whom  Vossignoria  has  already  been 
kind,  she  is  the  mother  of  that — of  that — of  Lu- 
cia," said  Agnes. 

"  Of  Lucia,"  exclaimed  theUn-named,  turn- 
io  Agnes, with  his  face  to  the  ground.  "I,  kind ! 
Immortal  God !  you  are  kind  in  coming  here,  to 
me,  to  this  house.  You  are  welcome.  You 
jring  a  blessing  to  us." 

'  Oh,  indeed!"  said  Agnes,  "  I  am  come  to 
xouble  you,  and  "  she  went  on  drawing  nigh 
;o  his  ear,  "  I  have  to  thank  you  besides  for — " 

The  Un-named  interrupted  her,and  anxious- 
y  inquired  after  Lucia,  he  then  turned  to  ac- 
company his  new  guests  to  the  castle.in  spite  of 
he  ceremonious  resistance  which  they  made. 
Agnes  gave  the  curate  a  look  which  seemed 
osay — you  can  see  now  how  little  occasion 
here  is  for  you  to  interfere  with  your  opin- 
ous  between  us  two. 

"Are  they  arrived  at  your  parish :"  asked 
he  Un-named. 

1 "  No,  signer,  I  would  not  wait  for  such  de- 
vils," answered  he.  "  Heaven  knows,  whe- 
her  I  should  have  got  alive  out  of  their  hands, 
and  been  able  to  come  here  to  trouble  Vossig- 
noria illustrissima." 


THE  METROPOLITAN; 


A    MISCELLAXY    OF    LITERATURE    AND    SCIENCE. 


Vol.  II. 


Washington)  July 


1834. 


No.  4. 


"  Well,  well,  be  of  good  heart,"  said  the  Un- 
named, "you  are  now  in  security.  They  will 
not  coine  up  here,  and  if  they  should  try  it,  we 
are  ready  to  receive  them." 

"I  hope  they  will  not  come,"  said  Don  Ab- 
bondio,  "  I  hear,"  he  added,  pointing  to  the 
mountains  that  closed  the  valley  on  the  other 
side,  "  I  hear,  that  on  that  side  too  there  is  an- 
other troop  coming,  but — but — " 

"  It  is  true,"  answered  the  Un-named,but  be 
under  no  apprehension,  we  are  ready  for  them 
both." 

Between  two  fires — said  Don  Abbondio  to 
himself, — precisely  between  two  fires.  Where 
have  I  let  them  bring  me  ?  and  by  a  couple  of 
chattering  silly  women  too.  And  he  seems  to  be 
quite  glad  that  we  have  got  into  this  trouble. 
Oh,  what  people  there  are  in  this  world ! 

Having  entered  the  castle,  Agnes  and  Per- 
petua  were  conducted  to  a  room  in  that  part  of 
it  assigned  to  females,  which  occupied  three 
of  the  four  sides  of  the  second  court,  in  the 
back  part  of  the  building,  upon  a  jutting  and 
isolated  mass,  overhanging  a  precipice.  The 
men  were  lodged  in  the  sides  of  the  other  courr, 
to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  and  in  the  side  that 
fronted  the  esplanade.  The  central  part  of  the 
building,  which  separated  the  two  courts,  and 
through  which  there  was  a  communication 
from  one  to  the  other,  by  a  broad  passage  op- 
posite to  the  principal  gate,  was  in  part  occu- 
pied by  provisions,  and  partly  served  as  a  place 
of  deposite  for  the  things  which  the  refugees 
had  brought  with  them.  In  the  inens'  quar- 
ter there  was  a  small  apartment  destined  to  the 
ecclesiastics  who  might  come.  There  the  Un- 
named accompanied  Don  Abbondio,  who  was 
the  first  to  take  possession  of  it. 

Twenty-three  or  twenty-four  days  our  wan- 
derers remained  in  the  castle,  amidst  a  conti- 
nual movement,  and  a  great  company,  which 
at  first  kept  continually  increasing,  but  with- 
out any  adventures  of  importance .  Not  a  day, 
to  be  sure,  passed,  that  the  men  were  not  call- 
ed to  arms.  Landsknechts  were  seen  here, 
and  cappelletti  were  seen  there.  At  every 
news,  the  Un-named  sent  men  to  explore ;  and 
if  it  appeared  an  urgent  case,  took  some  of  his 
people  along  with  him,  whom  he  always  held 
in  readiness,  and  went  with  them  out  of  the 
valley,  to  the  part  where  danger  was  appre- 
hended. And  it  was  a  most  singular  specta- 
cle, to  see  a  troop  of  men  armed  to  the  throat, 
and  in  military  order,  led  by  a  chief  himself 
unarmed.  In  general,  the  enemy  they  went  to 
seek  were  foragers,  or  disbanded  plunderers, 


that  fled  before  they  came  up  with  them.  But 
upon  one  occasion,  driving  some  of  these  to 
teach  them  not  to  approach  in  that  quarter,  the 
Un-named  received  information  that  a  small 
neighboring  town  had  been  invaded  and  de- 
livered to  plunder.  The  men  who  had  done 
this,  were  landsknechts  of  various  corps,  who 
had  remained  behind  to  forage,  and  who  hav- 
ing formed  into  a  squadron,  tried  to  surprise 
the  towns  contiguous  to  where  the  army  was 
quartered,  to  plunder  the  inhabitants,  and  lay 
them  under  contribution.  The  Un-named  made 
a  short  speech  to  his  men, and  led  them  on  in  the 
direction  of  the  small  town  they  had  invaded. 
They  arrived  there  quite  unexpectedly ; 
the  enemy  believing  they  had  nothing  to  do 
but  plunder,  seeing  themselves  attacked  by 
armed  men,  ready  lor  fight,  left  their  business 
half  done,  and  without  waiting  for  one  another, 
fled  to  the  place  they  had  come  from.  He  pur- 
sued them  for  a  short  distance,  then  having 
halted,  he  waited  a  while  to  see  if  any  thing 
should  occur,  and  returned.  On  his  passage 
through  the  place  he  had  saved,  shouts  of  ap- 
plause and  benedictions  were  poured  out  on 
the  friendly  troop  that  had  preserved  them,  and 
on  their  leader. 

In  the  castle,  in  such  a  chance  multitude, 
various  in  condition,  in  manners,  in  sex,  and 
age,  no  disorder  of  any  consequence  ever  took 
place.  The  Un-named  had  placed  guards  in 
every  quarter,  who  endeavored  to  remove  eve- 
ry inconvenience,  with  the  zeal  that  each  one 
carried  into  the  business  that  was  intrusted  to 
him. 

He  had  requested  the  ecclesiastics,  and  those 
who  had  most  authority  amongst  the  refugees, 
to  give  a  vigilant  eye  to  what  was  going  on. 
And  as  often  as  he  could,  he  was  going  about 
to  show  himself:  but,  even  in  his  absence,  the 
recollection  of  whose  house  they  were  in,  serv- 
ed to  restrain  those  who  might  have  been  dis- 
posed to  give  trouble :  besides,  all  were  peo- 
ple who  had  run  away,  and  for  that  reason, 
generally  inclined  to  be  quiet ;  the  thoughts  of 
home  and  of  their  property,  of  the  relations  and 
friends  they  had  left  in  danger,  and  the  news 
they  received,  all  tended  to  depress  their  spi- 
rits, and  kept  up  and  increased  that  disposi- 
tion the  more.  There  were  also  some  heads 
free  from  care,  men  of  a  more  staid  disposition, 
and  of  a  more  lively  courage,  who  endeavored 
to  pass  their  time  cheerfully.  They  had  aban- 
doned their  homes  because  they  were  not  strong 
enough  to  defend  them ;  but  they  took  no  plea- 

« in  weeping  and  sighing  after  what  could 
193 


194 


THE  METROPOLITAN 


not  be  remedied,  and  avoided  dwelling  in  im- 
agination upon  the  destruction,  which  unfor- 
tunately, they  would  be  visible  witnesses  of 
some  day.  Families  already  acquainted  had 
fled  in  company,  or  had  met  at  the  castle  ;  new 
friendships  were  formed,  and  the  crowd  had 
divided  itself  into  groups,  according  to  their 
customs  and  inclination. 

Those  who  had  money  and  discretion,  went 
down  into  the  valley,  where,  for  the  occasion, 
public  houses  and  taverns  had  been  hastily  es- 
tablished ;  there,  in  some  of  them,  lamentations 
alternated  with  their  mouthfuls,  and  nothing 
but  their  distresses  was  permitted  to  be  talked 
of;  in  others,  sorrow  was  never  spoken  of,  but 
only  to  say  it  was  not  to  be  talked  about. — 
Those  who  could  not,  or  would  not,  go  to  any 
expense,  had  bread,  soup,  and  wine,  distribu- 
ted to  them  at  the  castle  ;  there  were  besides, 
gome  tables  daily  served,  for  those  whom  the 
master  had  expressly  invited,  and  amongst 
those  were  our  acquaintances. 

Agnes  and  Perpetua,  that  they  might  earn 
their  food,  had  requested  to  be  employed  in  the 
service  that  was  required  for  such  an  extensive 
asylum,  and  in  this  they  passed  a  great  part  of 
the  day,  and  the  remaining  part  of  it  in  talking 
with  some  female  friends  they  had  made,  or 
with  poor  Don  Abbondio.  He  had  nothing  at 
all  to  do,  but  still  was  not  annoyed  on  that  ac- 
count, fear  kept  him  company.  The  appre- 
hensions of  an  assault,  I  believe  had  passed 
away  from  him,  or  if  he  had  any  of  them,  they 
did  not  give  him  the  most  trouble,  for  every 
time  he  turned  his  thoughts  for  an  instant  that 
way,  he  must  have  perceived  how  little  foun- 
dation there  was  for  them.  But  the  idea  of 
the  neighboring  country,  inundated  on  every 
side  with  ferocious  soldiers,  the  arms  and  the 
armed  men  he  had  constantly  before  him,  a 
castle,  that  particular  castle,  the  thought  of 
the  many  things  that  might  take  place  at  eve- 
ry moment  in  such  a  situation,  kept  him  in  an 
indistinct,  general,  and  continual  dread,  leav- 
ing aside  the  inquietude  that  the  thoughts  of 
his  poor  house  gave  him.  During  the  whole 
time  he  remained  in  this  asylum,  he  never  left 
it  a  stone's  throw,  nor  ever  set  his  foot  on  the 
descent :  his  only  walk  was  to  go  out  on  the  es- 
planade, and  wander  from  one  side  to  the  other 
of  the  castle,  looking  down  amongst  the  ra- 
vines and  bushes,  to  examine  whether  there 
was  a  pass  in  the  least  degree  practicable,  or 
any  path,  by  which  he  might  go  to  look  for  a 
hiding  place  in  case  of  an  attack.  To  all  his 
fellow  companions  in  the  place  he  made  pro- 
found reverences,  but  avoided  being  familiar 
with  them ;  his  most  frequent  conversations 
were  with  the  two  women,  as  we  have  said ; 
with  them  he  gave  vent  to  his  vexations,  at 
the  risk  of  a  quarrel  with  Perpetua,  or  being 
shamed  even  by  Agnes.  At  table  too,  where 
he  staid  a  very  short  time,  and  spoke  very  lit- 
tle, he  heard  the  news  of  the  terrible  passage, 
which  arrived  every  day,  traveling  on  from 
town  to  town,  and  from  mouth  to  mouth,  or 
brought  to  the  castle  by  some  one,  who  at  first 


had  thought  of  remaining  at  home,  and  at  last 
was  obliged  to  fly  without  Ijeine  able  to  save 
any  thing,  and  perhaps  ill-treated.  Every  day 
there  was  some  new  story  of  distress ;  some 
who  were  professional  newsmongers  careful- 
ly collected  all  the  reports,  sifted  all  the  ac- 
counts, and  gave  the  essence  of  them  to  others ; 
others  disputed  which  regiments  were  the  most 
ferocious,  whether  the  infantry  or  the  cavalry 
were  worse ;  they  repeated  as  well  as  they  could 
the  names  of  the  condottieri ;  the  past  under- 
takings of  some  of  them  were  related,  their  sta- 
tions and  marches  were  specified  :  such  a  day 
a  particular  regiment  was  in  such  and  such 
places,  tomorrow  it  would  visit  others,  whilst 
111  the  meantime  it  was  playing  the  devil  and 
worse  in  such  another.  Above  all,  information 
was  sought  for,  and  an  account  kept  of  the  re- 
giments that  by  turns  passed  the  bridge  of  Lec- 
co,  because  those  might  be  considered  as  gone, 
and  completely  out  of  the  district.  There  was 
the  cavalry  of  Wallenstein,  the  infantry  of  Mar- 
radas,  the  horse  of  Anlzalt,  the  Brandensburgh 
foot,  the  cavalry  of  Montecuccoli,  and  that  of 
Ferrari.  Altringer  had  passed,  then  Fursten- 
berg,  then  Colloredo,  then  the  Croats,  then  Tor- 
quato  Conti,  then  others  and  others,  and  at  last 
it  pleased  heaven  that  Galasso  also  should  pass, 
who  was  the  last. 

The  flying  squadron  of  Venetians  at  last  al- 
so drew  off,  and  the  whole  country,  to  the  right 
and  to  the  left,  was  perfectly  free.  The  peo- 
ple from  the  places  which  had  been  first  enter- 
ed and  left,  had  begun  to  leave  the  castle ;  eve- 
ry day  some  were  going  away,  as  after  an  au- 
tumnal storm,  the  birds  are  seen  in  every  di- 
rection issuing  from  the  leafy  branches  of  a 
large  tree  where  they  had  taken  shelter.  Our 
three  acquaintances  were  the  last  to  go  away, 
and  that  on  account  of  Don  Abbondio,  who 
feared,  if  he  returned  home  directly,  to  find 
some  stray  landsknechts  about  at  the  tail  of 
the  army.  Perpetua  might  talk  as  she  pleased, 
and  tell  him  the  longer  he  delayed,  the  more 
opportunities  he  gave  to  the  rogues  of  the  place 
to  enter  the  house.and  take  what  was  left,  when- 
ever his  own  skin  was  in  question,  he  was  sure 
to  conquer  her,  unless  indeed  the  imminence 
of  the  danger  made  him  incapable  of  resistance. 

The  day  fixed  upon  for  the  departure,  the 
Un-namedhad  a  carriage  brought  toMalanotte, 
in  which  he  had  ordered  an  assortment  of  linen 
to  be  put  for  Agnes.  Taking  her  on  one  side, 
be  made  her  also  accept  a  small  purse  of 
crowns,  to  repair  the  destruction  she  would 
find  in  her  house,  although  putting  her  hand 
on  her  bust,  she  assured  him  she  had  some  of 
the  old  ones  left  yet. 

"  When  you  snail  see  your  poor  good  Lu- 
cia," he  said  to  her  at  the  last,  "  I  am  sure  she 
will  pray  for  me ;  since  I  have  done  her  so  much 
evil,  teU  her  that  I  thank  her,  and  that  I  trust 
in  God  that  her  prayers  wiH  bring  down  also 
benedictions  upon  herself." 

He  insisted  on  accompany  ing  all  three  of  his 
guests  to  the  carriage;  the  humble  and  obsequi- 
ous thanks  of  Don  Abbondio,  and  the  compli- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


195 


mentary  things  said  by  Perpetua,  may  be  ima- 
gined. They  drove  olf,  and  made,  as  had  been 
agreed  upon,  a  short  stop  at  the  tailor's  house, 
where  a  thousand  things  were  told  them  about 
the  passage  of  the  troops,  the  old  story  of  plun- 
dering, of  assaults,  of  ruin,  and  of  filth  ;  but  by 
good  fortune  no  landsknechts  had  been  there. 

"  Ah,  signor  curate,"  said  the  tailor,  giving 
him  his  arm  to  get  into  the  carriage  "  there 
will  have  to  be  some  printed  books,  about  such 
a  terrible  affair  as  this  has  been." 

As  soon  as  they  had  made  a  little  progress 
our  travelers  began  to  perceive  with  their 
own  eyes  a  little  of  what  they  had  so  often 
heard  described.  Vineyards  destroyed  and 
stripped,  not  as  after  the  vintage,  but  as  if  hail 
and  hurricane  had  been  in  company  among 
them ;  the  brandies  lying  on  the  ground,  torn 
and  trampled  under  foot,  the  stakes  pulled  up, 
the  soil  trodden  down  and  covered  with  stones, 
leaves,  and  shoots  :  the  trees  were  lopped  and 
split,  the  hedges  were  full  of  gaps,  and  the  di- 
viding fences  all  carried  away.  In  the  towns, 
the  doors  were  broke,  the  paper  windows  all 
torn,  and  straw,  rags,  fragments,  in  heaps,  or 
scattered  in  the  streets  :  the  air  was  heavy, 
and  bad  smells  came  out  of  the  houses.  The 
country  people  were  either  cleansing  their 
houses  from  the  filth,  repairing  them  as  well  as 
they  could,  or  in  knots  weeping  and  lamenting 
together ;  and  as  the  carriage  passed,  hands 
were  stretched  out  to  the  doors  to  ask  for  alms. 

With  this  spectacle,  now  before  their  eyes, 
now  in  their  imaginations,  expecting  to  find 
the  same  state  of  things  at  home ;  they  at  last 
arrived,  and  found  things  precisely  as  they  ex- 
pected. 

Agnes  placed  her  bundles  in  a  corner  of  the 
court-yard,  which  had  remained  the  cleanest 
part  of  the  premises  :  she  then  began  to  put 
things  in  order,  and  to  collect  the  small  affairs 
that  had  been  left  undestroyed ;  she  got  a  car- 
penter and  a  smith  to  repair  her  doors ;  and 
opening  the  present  of  linen  she  had  received, 
and  secretly  counting  the  new  crowns  which 
had  been  given  to  her,  she  exclaimed  to  herself 
— I  have  fighted  on  my  feet,  God  and  the  ma- 
donna be  thanked,  and  that  good  gentleman — 
I  may  truly  say  I  have  fallen  on  my  feet ! 

Don  Abbondio  and  Perpetua  got  into  their 
house,  without  the  aid  of  keys  ;  at  every  step 
they  advanced  in  the  passage,  they  felt  a  moul- 
dy, diseased,  pestilential  air,  that  drove  them 
back;  with  their  hands  to  their  noses,  they 
reached  the  kitchen  door,  and  entered  a-tiptoe, 
carefully  minding  where  they  trod  to  avoid  the 
most  disgusting  and  filthy  parts  of  the  litter 
that  was  on  the  floor,  and  giving  a  look  all 
round.  Nothing  was  left  entire,  but  pieces 
and  fragments  of  what  had  been  so,  were  seen 
both  here  and  every  where,  in  every  corner : 
feathers  and  quills  of  Perpetua's  fowls,  strips 
of  linen,  leaves  from  the  calendars  of  Don 
Abbondio,  pieces  of  earthenware,  altogether, 
or  scattered  about.  Upon  the  hearth  only  could 
be  traced  the  signs  of  a  complete  pillage,  all 
closely  brought  into  a  place  together,  Bke  a 


great  many  ideas  not  expressed  but  understood 
in  the  speech  of  an  eloquent  man.  Ends  of 
brands,  and  burnt  pieces  of  wood,  that  convey- 
ed the  idea  of  the  elbow  of  an  arm  chair,  the 
foot  of  a  table,  the  door  of  a  closet,  the  post  of 
a  beadstead,  the  stave  of  the  cask  which  once 
contained  the  wine  that  fortified  the  stomach 
Don  Abbondio.  The  rest  was  all  ashes  and 
charcoal,  and  with  this  very  charcoal,  the  spoil- 
ers, by  way  of  compensation,  had  begrimed  the 
walls  over  with  queer  figures,  ingeniously  con- 
triving with  certain  square  caps  and  tonsures, 
and  broad  faces,  to  imitate  priests,  taking  great 
pains  to  make  them  as  horrible  and  ridiculous 
as  possible,  an  intention,  that  truly  such  artists 
could  not  fail  in. 

"  Hogs  !"  exclaimed  Perpetua.  "  Rascals !" 
exclaimed  Don  Abbondio;  and  as  if  they  were 
escaping,  they  ran  out  by  another  door  that 
opened  into  the  garden.  Here  they  drew  breath, 
and  went  to  the  fig  tree,  but  ere  they  reached 
it,  they  perceived  the  earth  had  been  removed, 
and  both  of  them  screamed  out  together  :  when 
they  got  there,  they  found  that  the  corpse 
which  had  been  buried  there,  had  been  taken 
away.  Here  a  little  scandal  took  place.  Don 
Abbondio  reproached  Perpetua  with  having 
awkwardly  hid  the  things,  and  as  may  be  sup- 
posed, she  returned  it  with  interest :  as  soon 
as  they  had  both  of  them  made  a  pretty  good 
noise,  they  returned  to  the  house  grumbling, 
with  their  arms  stretched  out,  and  their  fingers 
pointed  to  the  hole.  All  over  the  house  they 
found  nearly  the  same  state  of  things.  They 
had  some  difficulty  in  getting  the  house  cleans- 
ed and  disinfested,  it  being  not  very  practica- 
ble at  such  a  time  to  get  any  assistance,  and 
they  had  to  live  some  time,  almost  as  if  they 
were  in  camp,  accommodating  themselves  as 
well  as  they  could,  until  they  got  the  doors,  the 
movables,  and  the  utensils  replaced,  with  mo- 
ney that  was  borrowed  of  Agnes. 

This  disaster  proved  to  be  in  the  end,  the 
germ  of  some  very  troublesome  disputes ;  for 
Perpetua,  by  force  of  asking  questions,  of  peep- 
ing and  putting  her  nose  every  where,  Ibund 
out  that  some  goods,  belonging  to  her  master, 
which  were  supposed  to  have  been  carried  away 

destroyed  by  the  soldiers,  were  instead  of 
that,  in  very  good  order,  in  the  possession  of 
some  people  of  the  place,  and  she  kept  plaguing 
ier  master  to  assert  his  rights,  and  get  his  pro- 
perty again.  This  was  a  disagreeable  chord 
:o  strike  on  with  Don  Abbondio,  for  his  pro- 
lerty  was  in  the  possession  of  rogues,  a  class 
)f  persons  he  had  been  always  very  solicitous 
:o  be  at  peace  with. 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  know  any  thing  about 
them  !"  said  he.  "  How  often  have  I  not  told 
,  that  what  is  gone,  is  gone  ?  Am  I  to  be 
ormented  now  because  other  people  have  rob- 
)ed  my  house  ?" 

"  That's  just  what  I  say  !  You  would  let 
:hem  tear  one's  eyes  out  of  one's  head.  It's 
a  sin  to  steal  from  other  people,  but  it's  no  sin 
;o  rob  you." 

1  Only  see  how  stupidly  you  can  talk  !"re- 


196 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


plied  Don  Abbondio.    "  Will  you  hold  your 
tongue,  then?" 

Perpetua  stopped,  but  not  immediately,  and 
this  was  only  for  a  pretext  to  break  out  again ; 
so  that  at  last  the  poor  man  was  reduced  to  the 
point  of  not  daring  to  utter  a  single  regret  be- 
cause this  or  the  other  thing  was  not  there, 
when  he  stood  in  need  of  it,  as  she  immediate- 
ly broke  out  with,  "  go  and  look  for  it  at  such 
a  ones  who  has  got  it,  and  would  not  have 
kept  it  until  this  time  if  he  had  not  known  it 
belonged  to  a  good  natured  man." 

Another,  and  more  lively  uneasiness  sprung 
from  his  hearing  of  straggling  soldiers  passing 
every  day,  as  ne  had  too  well  conjectured, 
which  kept  him  in  constant  apprehension  of 
some  of  them,  or  even  a  troop  coming  to  his 
house :  he  had  had  the  door  repaired  the  first 
thing,  and  kept  it  secured  with  great  care,  but 
it  pleased  heaven  to  spare  him  that  distress. 
These  terrors,  however,  had  scarcely  ceased, 
when  a  new  one  broke  out. 

But  we  leave  the  poor  curate  aside  now,  as 
we  have  to  speak  of  something  else  besides 
private  apprehensions,  or  the  distress  of  parti- 
cular towns,  or  of  a  temporary  disaster. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE  plague,  which  the  tribunal  of  health 
had  feared  might  enter  with  the  German  troops 
into  the  Milanese  territory,  had  really  been 
brought  there,  as  is  known ;  and  it  is  equally 
known  that  it  did  not  stop  there,  but  invaded 
and  undid  a  great  part  of  Italy.  Led  by  the 
thread  of  our  story,  we  come  now  to  recount 
the  principal  events  of  that  calamity,  in  the 
Milanese  we  wish  to  be  understood,  and  in- 
deed in  Milan  exclusively  :  for  it  is  of  the  city 
alone  all  the  memorials  of  the  time  speak,  as 
it  usually  happens  every  where,  for  good  and 
bad  reasons.  And  in  this  relation,  our  intent 
is  not,  to  speak  the  truth,  to  describe  the  state 
of  things  wliere  our  principal  personages  were, 
but  to  make  our  readers  acquainted,  as  far  as 
we  can  in  a  brief  space,  and  indeed  as  well  as 
we  can,  a  portion  of  our  country's  history  more 
famous  than  known. 

Of  the  numerous  contemporaneous  accounts, 
there  is  not  one  which  of  itself  suffices  to  give 
a  condensed  and  well  arranged  idea,  as  there 
is  not  one,  which  is  not  useful  in  acquiring 
one.  In  each,  without  excepting  that  of  Ri- 
pamonti,*  who  is  far  before  them  all  in  the 
abundance  and  choice  of  his  facts,  and  still 
more  so  in  his  mode  of  considering  them ;  in 
each,  essential  facts  are  omitted  which  are  re- 
corded in  others,  in  each  there  are  material 
errors  which  may  be  perceived  and  rectified 

*  Joseph!  Ripamontii,  canonici  Scalensis,  chronis- 
tx  urbia  Mediolani,De  peste  qua;  fuit  anno  1630,  Libri 
v.  Mediolani,  1640,  apud  Malatesta*. 


by  the  aid  of  another,  or  those  few  acts  of  public 
authority,  edited  or  inedited,  which  have  been 
preserved.  Frequently  in  one  we  find  those 
causes,  of  which  in  another  we  have  seen,  in 
an  isolated  state,  the  effects.  In  all  of  them, 
there  prevails  a  strange  confusion  of  times  and 
things,  and  a  perpetual  going  backwards  and 
forwards,  at  random,  without  any  general  de- 
sign, or  regular  plan  even  in  particulars.  A 
character,  as  to  the  rest,  very  generally  belong- 
ing to  the  books  of  that  period,  those  princi- 
pally written  in  our  language,  at  least  those 
which  were  written  in  Italy,  which  we  doubt 
whether  the  learned  in  other  parts  of  Europe 
are  aware  of.  No  writer  of  a  later  period  has 
proposed  to  examine  and  compare  those  ac- 
counts, to  draw  a  connected  chain  of  events 
from  them,  as  history  of  that  plague ;  so  that  the 
notion  generally  entertained  of  it  is  necessarily 
uncertain  and  rather  confused  :  an  indetermi- 
nate idea  of  great  evils  and  great  errors,  (and  in 
truth  both  one  and  the  other  existed  to  a  de- 
gree far  beyond  what  can  be  imagined,)  an 
idea  formed  more  from  opinion  than  from  facts, 
a  few  scattered  facts,  unaccompanied  by  their 
most  characteristic  circumstances,  and  with- 
out distinction  of  time,  that  is  without  any  re- 
lation to  cause  and  effect,  its  course  and  pro- 
gress. As  to  ourselves,  we  have  examined  and 
compared,  with  great  diligence  at  least,  all  the 
printed  accounts,  more  than  one  inedited  one, 
many  (in  respect  to  the  few  which  remain) 
documents  which  are  called  official :  we  have 
endeavored  to  give  such  a  relation  of  this  pest, 
not  the  most  perfect  that  could  be  produced, 
but  such  a  one  as  has  never  been  given  yet. 

We  do  not  mean  to  refer  to  all  the  public 
acts,  nor  to  all  the  incidents  deserving  of  being 
preserved,  much  less  do  we  pretend  to  render 
the  reading  of  the  old  accounts  useless  to  those 
who  desire  to  have  a  more  complete  detail ; 
we  are  too  sensible  what  a  lively,  powerful, 
and  almost  incommunicable  character  there  is 
in  works  of  that  kind,  however  conceived  and 
constructed.  We  have  only  endeavored  to  dis- 
tinguish and  ascertain  the  most  remarkable 
facts,  to  arrange  them  in  their  proper  order  of 
succession,  as  far  as  their  nature  is  suscepti- 
ble of  it,  to  observe  then-  mutual  efficiency,  and 
thus  to  give  for  the  present,  and  until  others 
furnish  something  better,  a  succinct,  but  true 
and  continuous  relation  of  that  disaster. 

Alone  the  whole  line  of  country  through 
which  the  army  passed,  a  few  dead  bodies  had 
been  found  in  the  houses,  and  on  the  road. — 
Very  soon  after,  individuals  and  whole  fami- 
lies began  to  sicken  and  to  die,  in  various  parts 
of  the  country,  of  violent  and  extraordinary 
complaints,  the  symptoms  of  which  were  un- 
known to  the  greater  part  of  the  living.  There 
were  only  a  few  persons  who  had  seen  them 
before,  those  who  were  old  enough  to  remem- 
ber the  plague  which,  fifty  three  years  before, 
had  desolated  a  great  part  of  Italy,  and  espe- 
cially the  Milanese,  wliere  it  was  called,  and 
still  is,  the  plague  of  San  Carlo.  So  great  is 
the  power  01  charity !  In  the  various  and  very 


I  PROMESS1  SPOSI. 


197 


solemn  memorials  we  have  of  such  an  univer- 
sal misfortune,  it  has  been  able  to  bring  out  in 
full  relief,  the  great  benevolence  of  one  man ; 
inspiring  him  with  feelings  and  actions  more 
memoral  than  the  misfortune  itself,  and  stamp- 
ing him  in  his  men's  minds  as  the  symbol  of  all 
these  sad  events ;  in  the  whole  of  which  it 
urged  him  forwards  to  resist  the  evil ;  himself 
the  guide,  the  succor,  the  example,  and  at 
length  the  voluntary  victim ;  a  power,  that 
could  make  what  was  a  common  calamity,  ap- 
pear to  be  an  enterprise  peculiarly  his  own, 
and  which  could  honor  it  with  his  name,  as  if 
it  was  a  conquest  or  a  discovery. 

The  head  physician,  Ludovico  Settala,  who 
had  not  only  witnessed  that  plague,  but  who 
had  been  one  of  the  most  active  and  intrepid ; 
and,  although  very  young,  one  of  the  most  cele- 
brated practitioners,  and  who  now  having 
strong  suspicions  about  this,  was  upon  the 
alert  collecting  information,  communicated  to 
the  tribunal  of  health,  on  the  20th  October, 
that  in  the  town  of  Chuiso,  the  last  of  the  ter- 
ritory of  Lecco,  on  the  Bergamasc  frontier,  the 
contagion  had  undoubtedly  broke  out :  no  steps 
however  were  taken  in  consequence,  at  is  sta- 
ted by  Tadino,  page  24. 

Similar  accounts  were  now  received  from 
Lecco  and  Bellano.  The  tribunal  then  came 
to  a  determination,  but  contented  itself  with 
despatching  a  commissary,  who  was  to  take 
up  a  physician  at  Como,  on  the  road,  and  ac- 
companied by  him,  should  visit  the  places 
that  had  been  mentioned.  Both  of  them  "  ei- 
ther from  ignorance,  or  for  some  other  reason, 
suffered  themselves  to  be  persuaded  by  an  old 
ignorant  barber  at  Bellano,  that  that  kind  of 
disorder  was  not  the  plague,"  but  in  some  pla- 
ces was  the  usual  effect  produced  by  the  con- 
tinual exhalations  from  the  marshes ;  and  eve- 
ry where  else,  was  the  consequence  of  the 
hardships  and  discomforts  suffered  during  the 
passage  of  the  Germans.  This  assurance  was 
carried  to  the  tribunal,  which  appears  to  have 
been  tranquilized  by  it. 

But  news  continually  arriving  of  increasing 
mortality  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  two 
delegates  were  despatched  to  investigate  and 
examine  themselves ;  the  aforesaid  Tadino,and 
an  auditor  of  the  tribunal.  When  they  got  in- 
to the  country,  the  proofs  were  so  numerous 
that  it  was  not  necessary  to  use  any  diligence 
in  looking  for  them.  They  traversed  the  ter- 
ritory of  Lecco,  of  Valsassina,  the  banks  of  the 
lake  of  Como,  the  districts  called  Mount  Bri- 
anza  and  the  Gera  of  Adda,  and  every  where 
found  barriers  about  the  towns,  some  almost 
deserted,  the  inhabitants  having  abandoned 
them,  and  having  encamped  in  the  country,  or 
being  dispersed. 

"They  seemed  to  us,"  says  Tadino,  "like 
so  many  wild  creatures,  carrying  mint,  and 
me,  and  rosemary  in  their  hands,  and  some  of 
them  cruets  of  vinegar.  They  made  inqui- 
ries of  the  number  of  those  who  had  died,  and 
it  was  dreadful.  They  examined  both  the  sick 
and  the  dead,  and  saw  the  lurid  and  terrible 


marks  of  the  pestilence  every  where.  As  soon 
as  possible,  they  communicated  by  letter  the 
fatal  news  to  the  tribunal  of  health,  which  on 
their  reception,  as  Tadino  says,  "  set  about" 
regulating  passports,  and  closing  the  gates  of 
the  city  against  all  persons  coming  from  in- 
fected districts  "  and  whilst  the  proclamation 
was  preparing,"  some  summary  orders  were 
given  by  anticipation  to  the  revenue  officers 
at  the  gates. 

In  the  meantime,  the  delegates  with  as  much 
despatch  as  they  could,  made  such  precaution- 
ary arrangements  as  they  were  able  to  do  for 
the  best,  and  returned  with  the  sad  feeling  that 
they  were  altogether  insufficient  to  remedy 
or  arrest  an  evil  which  had  spread  itself  so 
much,  and  had  advanced  so  rapidly. 

On  the  14th  November,  both  a  verbal  and 
written  report  being  delivered  to  the  tribunal, 
they  were  commissioned  to  present  themselves 
to  the  governor,  and  disclose  the  real  state  of 
things  to  him.  They  presented  themselves  to 
him,  and  reported,  that  he  had  appeared  very 
much  troubled  on  receiving  the  information ; 
and  that  he  had  evinced  a  good  deal  of  feeling, 
but  that  the  affairs  of  the  war  were  more  press- 
ing, sed  belli  graviores  esse  curas.*  This  is  what 
Ripamonti  says,  who  had  examined  the  regis- 
ters of  the  tribunal,  and  had  conferred  with 
Tadino,  who  was  especially  charged  with  the 
mission.  It  was  the  second,  if  the  reader  re- 
members, on  the  same  errand.  Two  or  three 
days  afterwards,  on  the  18th  November,  the 
governor  issued  a  decree,  in  which  he  ordered 
public  demonstrations  for  the  birth  of  Prince 
Charles,  the  first  born  of  King  Philip  IV,  with- 
out suspecting  or  even  caring  about  the  danger 
of  bringing  a  concourse  of  people  together  un- 
der such  circumstances,  as  if  it  had  been  in 
ordinary  times,  and  pestilence  had  not  even 
been  spoken  of. 

The  governor,  as  we  have  before  said,  was 
the  celebrated  Ambrogio  Spinola,  expressly 
sent  to  re-establish  the  war,  to  remedy  the 
blunders  of  Don  Gonzalo,  and  incidentally,  as 
it  were,  to  govern  the  people.  We  can  also 
incidentally  mention,  that  he  died  a  few  months 
afterwards,  in  the  same  war  he  had  so  much  at 
heart,  and  died,  not  of  wrounds  received  in  the 
field,  but  in  his  bed,  of  sorrow  and  rankling  at 
the  heart,  on  account  of  the  reproaches,  the 
vexations,  and  disgusts  of  every  kind,  that  he 
had  received  from  those  he  served.  History 
has  deplored  his  fate,  and  has  marked  the  in- 
gratitude observed  towards  him  ;  it  has  descri- 
bed with  great  care  his  military  and  political 
conduct,  praised  his  foresight,  his  activity,  and 
constancy.  History  might  have  inquired  where 
those  qualities  were,  when  the  plague  was 
menacing  and  invading  a  population,  confided 
to  his  care  and  vigilance. 

But  what,  leaving  the  blame  entire,  dimin- 
ishes our  surprise  at  his  conduct,  what  creates 
greater  and  more  lively  astonishment,  is  the 
behavior  of  the  population  itself,  of  that  part 

*  Ripamonti,  p.  215 


198 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


of  it  I  mean  to  say,  which  not  yet  seizec 
by  the  contagion,  had  such  just  cause  to  dreai 
it  On  the  arrival  of  these  news  from  the  towns 
thus  desolated,  and  which  form  a  circle  abou 
the  city,  in  some  points  not  more  distant  from 
it  than  twenty  miles,  and  others  eighteen,  who 
would  not  have  thought  that  a  general  com- 
motion would  have  broke  out,  and  an  impati- 
ent solicitude  for  some  regulations,  good  or  bad, 
to  be  established,  or  at  least  a  silent  inquie- 
tude. Yet,  if  in  any  one  thing  the  memoirs  of 
the  time  agree,  it  is  in  the  fact,  that  nothing  of 
the  kind  took  place.  The  penury  of  the  pre- 
ceding year,  the  distresses-  created  by  the  sol- 
diers,ihe  afflictions  of  mind,  seemed  more  than 
sufficient  to  account  for  the  mortality.  At 
the  pot-houses,  in  the  shops,  in  the  houses, 
whoever  uttered  a  word  about  the  danger, 
whoever  hinted  at  the  plague,  was  met  by  in- 
credulous mockery,  or  with  contemptuous  an- 
ger. The  same  incredulity,  the  same,  to  give 
it  a  more  just  name,  blindness  and  obstinacy 
prevailed  in  the  senate,  in  the  council  of  decu- 
rions  and  in  every  magistrature. 

I  find  that  Cardinal  Federigo,  as  soon  as  the 
first  cases  of  contagion  became  known.enjoined 
the  clergy  by  pastoral  letters,  amongst  other 
things,  to  inculcate  to  the  people  the  impor- 
tance and  obligation  of  making  known  every 
case  that  should  occur,  and  to  put  away  all  in- 
fected and  suspicious  things.*  This  also  may 
be  enumerated  amongst  his  singular  and  praise- 
worthy actions. 

The  tribunal  of  health  solicited  help,  and  the 
establishment  of  precautions,  but  it  was  almost 
in  vain.  And  in  the  tribunal  itself,  they  were 
far  from  meeting  the  urgency  of  the  case.  It 
was,  as  Tadino  frequently  asserts,  and  as  it  ap- 
pears most  clearly  from  the  whole  of  his  nar- 
rative, the  two  physicians,  who  persuaded 
fully  of  the  imminence  and  importance  of  the 
danger,  urged  that  body,  which  had  afterwards 
to  stimulate  all  the  others. 

We  have  seen,  on  the  first  news  of  the  plague 
how  tardily  they  went  to  work,  even  in  pro- 
curing information  :  here  we  have  another  fact 
connected  with  their  slow  movements,  not  less 
extraordinary,  if  it  was  not  produced  by  obsta- 
cles originating  with  the  superior  magistrates. 
The  proclamation  concerning  passports,  which 
was  considered  the  30th  October,  was  not  de- 
termined upon  until  the  23d  of  the  following 
month,  and  was  not  published  until  the  29th. 
The  plague  was  already  in  Milan, 

Tadino  and  Ilipamonti  were  desirous  of  re- 
cording the  names  of  the  persons  who  carried  it 
there  first,  and  other  details  concerning  them ; 
and  in  fact,  when  we  turn  our  attention  to  the 
beginning  of  such  a  vast  mortality,  in  which 
the  victims,  to  say  nothing  of  distinguishing 
them  by  name,  can  scarce  DC  approximative^ 
designated  by  the  number  of  thousands  who 
die,  we  experience  a  particular  interest  to  be 
acquainted  with  those  first  and  few  names, 


*  Viladi  Fcderijfo  Borroinoo, 


la       cerjfo    orroinoo,  iMiiiinla 
co  Rivola.    Mihuio,  1666,  p.  584. 


aio  da  Frances- 


which might  have  been  noted  and  preserved  ; 
that  sort  of  distinction,  which  a  precedence  in 
extermination  gives,  seems  to  be  found  in 
them,  and  in  the  particulars  connected  with 
them,  even  when  they  are  trifling,  something 
singularly  fatal  and  memorable. 

Lach  of  these  historians  says,  that  it  was  an 
Italian  soldier  in  the  Spanish  service,  upon 
more  than  this  they  do  not  agree,  not  even  up- 
on his  name.  According  to  Tadino,  it  was  one 
Pietro  Antonio  Lovato  who  had  been  quarter- 
ed in  the  territory  of  Lecco ;  and  according  to 
Ripamonti,  one  Pier  Paolo  Locati,  who  had 
been  quartered  at  Chiavenna.  They  differ  also 
as  to  the  day  that  he  entered  Milan,  Tadino 
says  it  was  the  22d  October,  the  other  refers  it 
to  the  same  day  of  the  following  month,  but 
we  cannot  agree  with  either  of  them.  Both 
these  periods  are  contradicted  by  other  state- 
ments, well  ascertained.  And  yet  Ripamonti, 
who  wrote  by  order  of  the  general  council  of 
decurions.must  have  had  at  his  command  many 
means  of  acquiring  the  necessary  information  ; 
and  Tadino,  by  reason  of  his  office,  had  it  in 
in  his  power,  more  than  any  other,  to  fix  a  fact 
of  this  nature.  As  to  the  rest,  from  the  agree- 
ment of  other  dates,  which,  as  we  have  said, 
appear  to  us  better  ascertained,  it  results  that  it 
was  before  the  publication  of  the  proclamation 
concerning  passports,  and  if  the  matter  was  of 
any  importance,  we  might  also  prove,  or  al- 
most prove,  that  it  must  have  been  about  the 
first  of  that  month,  but  the  reader  will  dispense 
with  our  pursuing  the  subject. 

However  this  may  be,  this  unfortunate  fel- 
low and  messenger  of  misfortune,  entered  the 
city  with  a  large  bundle  of  clothes  purchased 
or  stolen  from  the  Germans,  went  to  lodge  at 
the  house  of  one  of  his  relations,  at  the  street 
at  the  oriental  gate,  near  the  capuchins.  Scarce 
had  he  got  there  when  he  became  ill,  was  ta- 
ken to  the  hospital,  and  there  a  bubo,  which 
appeared  under  his  arm,  induced  the  person 
who  had  the  charge  of  him  to  suspect  his  dis- 
order :  on  the  fourth  day  he  died. 

The  tribunal  of  health  ordered  his  family  to 
be  interdicted  from  holding  any  intercourse 
wtth  others,  and  his  clothes,  and  the  bed  on 
which  he  had  laid  at  the  hospital,  were  burnt. 
Two  servants  who  had  waited  upon  him,  and 
a  good  friar  who  had  attended  him,  fell  sick 
also  in  a  few  days,  and  died  of  the  plague. — 
The  doubts  that  had  been  entertained  from  the 
K-ginning  of  the  nature  of  the  complaint,  and 
:he  precautions  used  in  consequence,  stopped 
he  contagion  from  being  further  propagated. 
But  the  soldier  had  left  behind  him  a  seed 
that  was  not  long  in  germinating.  The  first 
)erson  in  whom  it  broke  out,  was  the  master 
>f  the  house  where  he  had  lodged,  one  Carlo 
2olonna,  a  lute  player.  All  the  occupants  of 
hat  house,  were,  by  order  of  the  tribunal  of 
icalth,  taken  to  the  lazaretto,  where  the  great- 
>r  part  of  them  took  to  their  beds,  and  a  few 
>f  them  died  very  soon  after  of  manifest  con- 
agion. 
In  the  city,  that  which  had  been  spread  by 


1  PROMESS1  SPOS1. 


199 


these  pepole,  and  by  their  clothes  and  other 
things,  that  had  been  conveyed  away  by  rela- 
tions, lodgers,  and  servants,  to  prevent  their 
being  burnt  by  order  of  the  tribunal,  as  well 
the  additional  contagion  that  had  been  intro- 
duced by  the  defect  in  the  orders  of  the  autho- 
rities, neglect  in  their  execution,  and  dexteri- 
ty in  eluding  them,  was  brooding  and  creep- 
ing on  slowly  all  the  rest  of  the  year,  and  the 
first  months  of  the  following  year,  1630.  From 
time  to  tine,  now  in  this,  now  in  that  quarter, 
some  one  was  seized  by  it,  and  a  death  would 
occasionally  occur :  the  variety  of  these  cases 
kept  down  apprehensions  about  the  plague, 
and  confirmed  still  more  the  generality  in  that 
stupid  and  homicidal  belief  that  it  was  not  the 
plague,  nor  ever  had  been  so.  Many  physi- 
cians too,  echoing  the  voice  of  the  people, 
(was  that  voice,  m  this  case,  the  voice  of 
God  ? )  derided  these  sinister  auguries,  and  the 
threatening  prognostications  of  a  few :  they  had 
names  of  diseases  in  readiness  to  give  to  eve- 
ry case  of  plague  they  were  called  in  to,  what- 
ever the  symptoms  or  indications  might  be. 

The  information  of  these  cases  when  it  did 
reach  the  tribunal,  came  tardily,  and  was  usu- 
ally very  uncertain.  The  fear  of  being  found 
contumacious,  and  of  being  sent  to  the  lazaret- 
to, sharpened  their  wits :  cases  were  suppress- 
ed, the  grave  diggers  and  the  magistrates  were 
corrupted ;  even  from  the  inferior  officers  of  the 
tribunal,  that  were  deputed  to  examine  the 
dead  bodies,  false  certificates  were  procured 
with  money. 

But,  as  every  time  the  tribunal  succeeded  in 
ascertaining  cases  of  contagion,  it  ordered  the 
clothes  to  be  burnt,  cut  off  all  intercourse  with 
houses,  and  sent  families  to  the  lazaretto,  it 
may  be  easily  imagined  how  strong  the  anger 
and  the  murmurs  of  the  population  were,  "  both 
of  the  nobles,  the  merchants,  and  the  common 
people,"*  persuaded  as  they  all  were,  that 
these  were  vexations  without  cause  or  utility. 
The  chief  odium  fell  upon  the  two  physicians, 
Tadino  and  the  senator  Settala,  son  of  the  head 
physician,  to  such  a  point,  thai  they  could  not 
even  cross  the  market  place,  without  being  vio- 
lently abused,  and  sometimes  having  stones 
thrown  at  them.  And  certainly  it  deserves  to 
be  recorded ;  the  singular  position  of  these 
men  for  several  months,  who  saw  a  horrible 
scourge  approaching,  who  made  the  most  re- 
solute efforts  to  meet  and  arrest  it,  who  found 
besides  the  arduousness  of  their  undertaking, 
obstacles  from  every  quarter  in  the  will  of  the 
people  they  sought  to  serve,  who  were  the  ob- 
jects of  public  reproaches,  and  were  called 
enemies  of  their  country.  Pro  patria  hostibus, 
says  Ripamonti.t 

The  other  physicians  who  were  convinced, 
like  them,  of  the  reality  of  the  contagion, 
who  suggested  precautions,  and  who  endea- 
vored to  communicate  to  others  the  painful 
certainty  they  were  under,  shared  this  hatred. 


*  Tardino,  p.  73. 


t  Page  251. 


The  least  violent  taxed  them  with  being  dupes, 
and  with  obstinacy,  the  others  said  it  was  evi- 
dent imposture,  and  called  them  an  organized 
cabal,  that  wanted  to  grow  rich  out  of  the  pub- 
lic dread. 

The  head  physician  Ludovico  Settala,  al- 
most an  octogenarian,  who  had  been  a  profes- 
sor of  medicine  in  the  university  of  Pavia, 
afterwards  of  moral  philosophy  at  Milan,  the 
author  of  many  works  then  enjoying  a  high 
reputation,  well  known  for  having  been  called 
to  the  chairs  of  the  universities  of  Ingolstadt, 
Pisa,  Bologna,  and  Padua,  and  for  having  de- 
clined them  all,  was  a  man  of  the  greatest  au- 
thority in  his  time.  To  a  reputation  for  science, 
was  added  that  of  a  well  spent  life ;  and  with 
the  public  admiration,  he  enjoyed  the  public 
esteem,  on  account  of  his  great  charity  in  pre- 
scribing for  and  doing  good  to  the  poor.  It  is 
a  thing  which  somewhat  disturbs  and  saddens 
the  great  esteem  inspired  by  these  merits,  but 
which  then  must  have  increased  the  respect 
entertained  for  him,  that  he  partook  of  the 
common  and  most  fatal  prejudices  of  his  co- 
temporaries  :  he  was  in  advance  of  them,  but 
still  formed  a  part  of  the  great  mass,  a  circum- 
stance that  sometimes  is  the  cause  of  mis- 
fortune, and  which  frequently  causes  men  to 
lose  the  authority  they  had  otherwise  acquired. 
But  the  reputation  which  he  enjoyed  did  not 
suffice  to  subdue  the  common  opinion  in  this 
affair  of  the  pestilence,  it  could  not  even  pro- 
tect him  from  the  animosity  and  the  insults  of 
that  portion  of  the  people  that  passes  easily 
from  opinion  to  demonstration,  and  actual  vio- 
lence. 

One  day  when  he  was  going  in  his  litter  to 
see  his  patients,  some  men  began  to  gather 
around  him,  saying  he  was  the  nead  of  those 
who  insisted  upon  it  that  it  was  the  plague,  that 
it  was  him  who  terrified  the  whole  city  with 
his  severe  aspect  and  grey  beard,  all  to  give 
work  to  the  doctors.  The  crowd  and  the  riot 
increased  so  much,  that  the  bearers  seeing  the 
matter  becoming  serious,  sought  an  asylum  for 
their  master  in  a  friendly  house,  which  fortu- 
nately was  near.  This  he  got,  for  clearly  per- 
ceiving and  stating  the  truth,  and  for  trying  to 
save  from  the  plague  many  thousands  of  per- 
sons ;  the  same  man  who  had  co-operated  at  a 
consultation,  to  torment  as  a  witch,  by  pincers 
and  hot  irons,  a  poor  unfortunate  woman,  be- 
cause her  master  had  a  pain  in  his  stomach, 
and  a  former  master  of  hers  had  been  enamor- 
ed of  her  ;*  an  act  which  procured  him  an  uni- 
versal eulogium  for  his  wisdom,  and  what  is 
intolerable  to  think  upon,  a  new  title  to  the 
public  gratitude. 

Towards  the  end  of  March,  first  at  the  quar- 
ter of  the  oriental  gate,  then  in  every  other 
part  of  the  city,  cases  began  to  grow  frequent, 
deaths,  with  uncommon  symptoms  of  spasms, 
palpitations,  lethargy  and  delirium,  with  dis- 
coloration of  the  flesh  and  buboes.  The  deaths 

*  Storia  di  Milano  del  Conte  Pletro  Verri.  Milano 
1823,  torn.  iv.  155. 


200 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


were  rapid,  violent,  and  not  unfrequently  sud- 
den, without  any  preceding  indications  of  sick- 
ness. The  physicians  opposed  to  the  opinion 
of  contagion,  and  being  unwilling  to  confess 
what  they  had  before  derided,  yet  being  oblig- 
ed to  give  a  distinct  name  to  a  new  scourge, 
now  too  general  and  too  obvious,  to  be  with- 
out one,  called  it  a  malignant  fever,  a  pestilent 
fever.  A  wretched  evasion,  and  mockery  of 
words,  which  produced  great  injury,  for  whilst 
it  appeared  to  acknowledge  the  truth,  it  dis- 
credited what  it  was  of  the  greatest  importance 
to  believe,  that  the  disorder  was  communica- 
ted by  actual  contact.  The  magistrates,  like 
persons  awoke  from  a  deep  sleep,  began  to  pay 
more  attention  to  the  urgencies  and  proposi- 
tions of  the  tribunal  of  health,  to  give  effect 
to  its  edicts,  to  the  sequestrations  ordered,  and 
to  the  quarantines  it  directed.  Funds  were 
continually  demanded  to  supply  the  daily  ex- 
penses of  the  lazaretto,  and  various  other  ser- 
vices, and  they  were  required  of  the  decuri- 
ons,  until  it  was  decided  (which  I  believe  it 
never  was  but  when  they  were  furnished) 
whether  these  expenses  should  be  borne  by  the 
city  or  the  royal  treasury. 

The  great  chancellor  also  pressed  the  decu- 
rions,  by  order  of  the  governor,  who  was  again 
gone  to  besiege  that  unfortunate  place  Casale, 
the  senate  was  likewise  urgent  with  them,  to 
adopt  some  system  for  supplying  the  city  with 
provisions,  lest  the  contagion  unfortunately 
spreading  itself,  all  communication  with  the 
neighboring  country  should  be  cut  off;  and  that 
means  might  be  found  to  maintain  a  great  por- 
tion of  the  population,  which  could  now  find 
no  employment.  The  decurions  endeavored 
to  procure  money,  by  loans  and  taxes,  and  of 
what  they  could  collect  they  gave  a  part  to 
the  tribunal  of  health,  and  a  part  to  the  poor : 
they  also  purchased  a  little  grain,  and  met  the 
wants  of  the  people  partially.  But  the  distress 
was  not  yet  at  its  height. 

At  the  lazaretto,  where  the  population,  al- 
though decimated  every  day,  was  still  daily 
increasing,  it  was  a  most  arduous  undertaking 
to  secure  assistance  and  subordination,  to  en- 
force the  separations  which  had  been  prescrib- 
ed to  be  observed,  to  maintain  finally,  or  to 
speak  more  properly,  to  establish  the  regula- 
tions ordained  by  the  tribunal  of  health  ;  for, 
from  the  first  moment,  every  thing  had  been  in 
confusion  on  account  of  the  insubordination 
of  the  numbers  shut  up  there,  and  the  negli- 
gence and  connivance  of  the  officers.  The  tri- 
bunal and  the  decurions  not  knowing  how  to 
establish  order,  had  recourse  to  the  capuchins, 
and  requested  the  father  commissary, — as  they 
called  him,  of  the  province,  who  acted  at  this 
time  for  the  provincial  father,  dead  a  short 
time  before, — to  furnish  them  with  an  able 
person  to  govern  this  desolate  kingdom.  The 
commissary  proposed  to  them  for  this  place 
one  father  Felice  Casati,  a  man  of  mature  age, 
who  had  a  great  reputation  for  benevolence,  ac- 
tivity, gentleness,  as  well  as  strength  of  mind, 
and  which,  as  was  shown  in  the  end,  was  well 


merited  ;  and  for  a  companion  and  assistant  to 
him,  they  gave  one  father  Michele  Pozzobo- 
nelli,  who  was  yet  a  young  man,  but  grave  and 
severe  in  his  thoughts  as  well  as  his  counte- 
nance. They  were  both  most  willingly  ac- 
cepted, and  on  the  30th  of  March  they  entered 
the  lazaretto.  The  president  of  the  tribunal  of 
health  took  them  through  the  place,  as  if  to 
give  them  possession  of  it,  and  naving  called 
together  the  servants  and  officials  of  every  de- 
scription, announced  to  them  all  that  father  Fe- 
lice was  constituted  president  of  that,  place, 
with  plenary  authority.  And  as  the  wretched 
assemblage  became  more  numerous,  other  ca- 
puchins came,  acting  as  superintendants,  con- 
lessors,  administrators,  overseers  of  the  sick, 
cooks,  washers,  and  whatever  was  wanting. — 
Father  Felice,  under  continual  fatigue  and 
anxiety,  went  the  rounds  day  and  night,  into 
the  passages,  the  rooms,  and  every  part,  some- 
times carrying  a  stick,  but  often  armed  with 
nothing  but  his  frowns :  he  encouraged  and  re- 
gulated the  servants  in  their  duties,  quieted  the 
tumults,  adjusted  their  quarrels,  threatened, 
punished,  reprehended,  comforted,  dried  the 
tears  of  others  and  shed  his  own.  He  caught 
the  plague  at  the  beginning,  but  was  cured, 
and  resumed  with  renewed  alacrity  the  duties 
he  had  undertaken.  His  brethren,  for  the  great- 
er part,  closed,  but  joyfully,  their  mortal  ca- 
reer there. 

Certainly  a  dictatorship  of  this  kind  was  an 
extraordinary  remedy,  as  strange  as  the  calam- 
ity, and  as  the  times  ;  and  if  this  fact  alone  had 
come  down  to  us,  it  would  have  been  a  suffici- 
ent proof  of  a  singularly  deranged  state  of  so- 
ciety. But  the  courage,  the  labor,  the  sacri- 
fice of  those  friars,  deserves  to  be  mentioned 
with  respect  and  tenderness,  with  that  kind  of 
gratitude  which  is  felt  sincerely,  for  great  ser- 
vices rendered  by  men  to  their  fellow-men. — 
To  die  for  the  sake  of  doing  good,  has  been  es- 
teemed a  noble  and  beautiful  act  in  all  times, 
and  under  any  state  of  things.  "For  if  these 
fathers  had  not  been  there,"  says  Tadino, 
"  certainly  the  city  would  have  been  entirely 
desolated,  and  it  was  a  miraculous  tiling  how 
in  so  short  a  space  of  time  they  could  have 
done  so  much  for  the  public  good,  and  how 
without  any  aid,  or  very  little  from  the  city, 
by  their  industry  and  prudence  they  could  sup-, 
port  so  many  tnousand  poor  people  in  the  la- 
zaretto." 

But  the  obstinate  denial  by  the  public  of  their 
being  any  plague,  naturally  yielded  and  dimin- 
ished in  proportion  as  the  disease  spread  itself, 
and  before  their  eyes,  evidently  by  contact  and 
communication,  and  the  more,  when  having  for 
some  time  been  confined  to  the  poor,  it  began 
to  reach  persons  of  greater  consequence.  And 
amongst  these,  as  he  was  then  the  most  noted, 
so  even  now  he  merits  express  notice,  the  head 
physician  Settala.  They  must  have  said,  at 
least,  was  the  poor  old  man  right  ?  who  knows  ? 
Himself,  his  wife,  two  sons,  and  seven  ser- 
vants were  taken  ill  of  the  plague.  He  and 
one  of  his  sons  survived,  the  rest  died.  "  These 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


201 


cases,"  says  Tadino,  occurring  in  the  city  in 
the  first  houses,  disposed  the  nobility  and  the 
common  people  to  think ;  and  the  incredulous 
doctors,  and  the  ignorant  and  rash  mob  began 
to  shut  their  lips,  close  their  teeth,  and  curve 
their  eyebrows. 

But  the  caprices,  the  waywardness,  and  the 
the  revenge,  if  the  term  may  be  used,  of  con- 
vinced obstinacy,  are  at  times  such,  that  one 
wishes  it  had  remained  unsubdued  to  the  last 
moment,  against  reason  and  evidence,  and  this 
was  exactly  one  of  those  times.  Those  who 
had  so  resolutely  denied,  and  for  so  long  a  pe- 
riod, that  there  existed  near  them  and  amongst 
them  a  pestilential  germ,  that  was  able  through 
natural  means  to  propagate  itself  and  destroy  ; 
now  not  being  able  to  deny  the  fact,  and  not 
being  willing  to  attribute  the  mortality  to  the 
contagion  they  had  denied,  (which  would  have 
been  confessing  themselves  to  have  been  both 
dupes  and  very  much  to  blame  at  the  same 
time,)  were  now  the  more  desirous  of  attribu- 
ting it  to  some  other  cause,  of  any  one  what- 
ever of  those  which  were  brought  forward. — 
Unhappily  there  was  one  ready  in  the  general 
idea  and  in  the  common  tradition  of  the  times, 
not  in  Italy  alone,  but  in  every  part  of  Europe, 
where  by  many  it  was  believed,  that  diabolical 
and  poisonous  contrivances  were  resorted  to, 
by  the  people  who  had  conspired  to  diffuse 
the  plague,  by  means  of  contagious  poisons, 
and  sorcery.  Practices  of  this  kind  had  ob- 
tained credit  during  other  pestilences,  and  es- 
pecially that  which  raged  in  Italy  half  a  cen- 
tury before.  It  is  added,  that  during  the  past 
year,  a  despatch,  signed  by  Philip  IV,  had 
reached  the  governor,  in  which  he  was  inform- 
ed that  four  Frenchmen  had  escaped  from 
Madrid,  who  were  suspected  of  diffusing  pes- 
tiferous and  poisonous  ointments ;  directing 
the  governor  to  be  on  the  alert  if  they  should  at 
any  time  arrive  at  Milan.  The  governor  had 
communicated  this  despatch  to  the  senate  and 
to  the  tribunal  of  health,  but  it  does  not  appear 
that  any  further  steps  were  taken.  But  the 
plague  having  broken  out,  and  being  recog- 
nized, the  recurrence  of  people's  minds  to  the 
fact,  disposed  them  to  attach  importance  to 
any  undefined  suspicion  of  villanous  fraud, 
and  might  indeed  be  the  immediate  occasion 
of  giving  birth  to  one. 

But  two  facts,  one  a  blind  and  undisciplined 
fear,  the  other  an  undescribable  sort  of  wick- 
edness, were  what  turned  the  vague  appre- 
hension of  some  possible  attempt,  into  strong 
suspicion,  and  with  many  into  certainty,  of  a 
real  plot  of  that  kind.  Some,  who  thought 
they  had  seen  on  the  evening  of  the  17th  May, 
some  persons  in  the  cathedral  anointing  some 
boards  which  constituted  a  partition  between 
the  two  sexes,  caused  the  boards  together  with 
some  benches  attached  to  them,  to  be  taken  out 
of  the  church  during  the  night,  although  the 
president  of  the  tribunal  had  been  with  four 
officials  to  visit  the  place,  had  examined  the 
boards,  the  benches,  and  the  font  containing 
the  holy  water,  and  finding  nothing  that  tend- 
26 


ed  to  confirm  the  ignorant  suspicion  of  such 
an  attempt  to  poison  the  people,  had,  to  calm 
their  imaginations,  and  from  abundant  caution 
rather  than  from  necessity,  decided,  that  it  was 
sufficient  to  purify  the  boards  by  washing 
them.  The  mass  of  those  things  heaped  up 
together  produced  a  singular  impression  of 
dread  in  the  multitude,  tor  whom  any  object 
becomes,  upon  such  slight  grounds,  a  topic  to 
talk  upon.  It  was  said,  and  believed  gener- 
erally,  that  all  the  benches,  the  walls,  and  even 
the  ropes  to  ring  the  bells,  had  been  anointed. 
Nor  was  it  merely  talked  of  at  the  time,  all  the 
memoirs  of  contemporaneous  writers  (some 
written  several  years  after)  which  speak  of  the 
fact,  speak  of  it  with  like  assurance,  and  it 
would  be  necessary  to  guess  atthe  true  history  of 
the  affair,  if  it  was  not  contained  in  a  letter  from 
the  president  of  the  tribunal  to  the  governor, 
which  is  still  preserved  in  the  archieves  of  San 
Fedele,  from  which  we  have  obtained  it,  and 
of  which  the  words  we  give  in  italic  are  ex- 
tracts. 

The  following  morning,  a  new,  a  more 
strange,  and  more  striking  spectacle,  astound- 
ed the  eyes  and  minds  of  the  citizens.  In  eve- 
ry part  of  the  city  the  doors  and  walls  of  the 
houses  were  besmeared  in  large  spots,  and  be- 
daubed with  some  whitish  yellow  filth  or  other, 
as  if  laid  on  with  a  sponge.  Whether  it  was 
a  wicked  joke  to  raise  up  a  still  more  clamor- 
ous apprehension,  or  a  sinister  design  to  in- 
crease the  public  confusion,  or  whatever  it 
was,  the  affair  is  attested  in  such  a  way,  that 
it  seems  more  unreasonable  to  attribute  it  alto- 
gether to  the  imagination,  than  to  that  melan- 
choly proneness  to  do  what  is  wrong,  by  no 
means  new  in  the  human  mind,  nor  unwont  to 
exhibit  itself  in  this  manner,  in  anyplace,  and 
it  may  be  said,  in  every  age.  Ripamonti,  who 
not  unfrequently  laughs  at  this  affair  of  an- 
nointing  things,  and  still  oftener  deplores  the 
popular  credulity,  declares  that  he  witnessed 
this  daubing,  and  describes  it.*  In  the  letter 
we  have  before  alluded  to,  the  members  of  the 
tribunal  relate  the  affair  in  the  same  terms ; 
they  talk  of  examinations,  of  experiments 
made  with  the  stuff  upon  dogs,  without  pro- 
ducing any  bad  effects,  and  add,  that  they 
believe,  the  audacious  act  had  rather  proceeded 
from  insolence,  than  from  any  wicked  intentions, 
a  thought  that  indicates  in  them,  up  to  that  pe- 
riod, an  easy  state  of  mind,  that  prevented 
their  seeing  what  was  notto  be  seen.  The  other 
contemporaneous  memoirs,  without  speaking 
of  their  concurrence  in  the  existence  of  the 
fact,  hint  generally,  that  it  had  been  from  the 
first  the  opinion  of  many,  that  that  daubing  of 
the  doors  and  walls  had  been  done  as  a  jote ; 
not  one  of  them  says  that  this  was  denied,  and 
they  certainly  would  have  mentioned  it,  had  it 


*Et  nos  quoque  invimus  visere.  Maculce  erant 
sparsim  inrequaliterque  manantes,  veluti  si  quis  haus- 
tam  spongia  sanicm  adspersisset,  impressissetve  pari- 
cti ;  et  januas  passin  ostiaque  iediura  eadem  adsper- 
gine  contaminata  cemebantur.  P.  75. 


202 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


been  so,  if  it  had  been  only  to  call  those  who 
were  of  a  different  opinion  extravagant  people. 

I  have  thought  it  not  out  of  place  to  relate 
and  put  together  these  particulars  of  such  a 
strange  delusion,  a  part  of  which  is  very  little 
known,  and  another  part  altogether  unknown  ; 
for  in  the  errors,  and  especially  in  the  errors  of 
the  multitude,  what  is  the  most  useful  and  in- 
teresting to  observe,  appears  to  me,  to  be  the 
precise  course  they  take,  their  character,  and 
the  means  by  which  they  take  possession  of 
the  human  mind,  and  acquire  the  ascendancy 
over  it. 

The  city  was  in  a  general  commotion,  the 
masters  of  the  houses  had  all  the  places  that 
were  besmeared  smoked  with  burnt  straw. — 
Passengers  in  the  streets  stopped,  looked  at 
them,  and  shivered  with  horror.  Foreigners, 
suspected  merely  because  they  were  so,  and 
easily  recognized  by  their  dress,  were  arrested 
in  the  streets  by  the  people,  and  sent  to  prison. 
Interrogatories  were  made,  the  arrested  were 
examined,  as  well  as  the  accusers  and  the  wit- 
nesses ;  no  one  was  found  guilty,  men's  minds 
were  still  capable  of  doubting,  of  comparing, 
and  of  understanding.  The  tribunal  of  health 
published  a  proclamation,  promising  a  reward 
and  impunity  for  the  discovery  of  the  perpe- 
trators of  the  fact.  Nevertheless,  it  not  appear- 
ing expedient  to  us,  says  the  tribunal  in  the  let- 
ter we  have  cited,  which  bears  date  the  21st 
May, — but  which  was  evidently  written  on  the 
19th,  the  printed  proclamation  having  that  date, 
— that  this  crime  should  altogether  escape  pu- 
nishment, especially  in  such  dangerous  and  suspi- 
cious times,  for  the  consolation  and  tranquillity 
of  this  people,  and  urith  a  view  to  get  at  some  indi- 
cations of  the  fact,  we  have  this  day  published  a 
proclamation,  $c.  In  this  document  however, 
we  find  no  allusion,of  a  distinct  character,to  that 
reasonable  and  tranquilizing  conjecture  which 
had  been  forwarded  to  the  governor,  a  fact,  that 
whilst  it  condemns  the  furious  prejudice  of  the 
people,  makes  their  own  condescension  the 
more  blamable,  as  it  might  lead  to  pernicious 
results. 

Whilst  the  tribunal  was  endeavoring  to  dis- 
cover the  author  of  the  disturbance,  many  of 
those  constituting  the  public,  had,  as  it  often 
happens,  made  the  discovery.  Those  who 
believed  he  annointing  matter  to  be  infectious, 
in  part  believed  that  it  was  a  piece  of  ven- 
geance of  Don  Gonzalo  Fernandez  di  Cordova, 
for  the  insults  he  received  at  his  departure, 
whilst  others  thought  it  was  a  device  of  Car- 
dinal Richelieu,  to  desolate  Milan  and  make 
himself  master  of  it  without  trouble :  there 
were  some,  but  whose  reasons  we  are  not  ac- 
quainted with,  attributed  it  to  Count  Callalto, 
Wallenstein,  to  this,  and  to  that  Milanese  gen- 
tleman. There  were  not  wanting,  as  we  have 
said,  of  those  who  saw  in  the  act  nothing  but 
a  wanton  piece  of  mischief,  and  laid  it  to  the 
account  of  the  students,  the  gentry,  and  the 
officers  who  were  annoyed  at  the  seige  of  Ca- 
eale.  It  was  probably  owing  to  their  not  per- 
ceiving, as  it  had  been  dreaded,  that  an  uni- 


versal infection  and  mortality  had  followed 
the  act,  that  their  first  apprehensions  were 
calmed,  and  they  appeared  to  become  indiffer- 
ent to  it. 

There  were,  however,  still  a  certain  num- 
ber of  persons  not  yet  persuaded  that  the 
plague  existed.  And  because,  as  well  in  the 
lazaretto  as  in  the  city,  a  few  recovered,  "  it 
was  said  "  (the  last  reasons  for  an  opinion 
which  has  been  overthrown  by  evidence,  are 
always  curious  to  know,)  by  the  common  peo- 
ple, and  by  many  partial  physicians,  that  it 
was  not  the  true  plague,  for  that  would  have 
destroyed  every  body.*  To  remove  all  doubt, 
the  tribunal  adopted  an  expedient  fitted  for  the 
urgency,  a  method  of  speaking  to  the  eyes, 
such  as  the  state  of  things  seemed  to  require, 
or  to  suggest.  On  one  of  the  festival  days  of 
the  Pentecost,  the  citizens  were  accustomed  to 
go  to  the  cemetery  of  San  Gregorio,  out  of  the 
oriental  gate,  to  pray  for  the  souls  of  those  who 
had  died  of  the  former  contagion,  and  whose 
bodies  were  buried  there ;  and  making  this 
act  of  devotion  an  occasion  for  some  spectacle 
and  amusement,  every  one  went  there  dressed 
in  the  best  manner. 

Amongst  other  persons,  there  had  died  that 
day  of  the  plague,  an  entire  family.  At  the 
moment  of  the  greatest  concourse,  amidst  the 
carriages,  those  on  horseback,  and  people  on 
foot,  the  dead  bodies  of  that  family,  by  order 
of  the  tribunal,  were  brought  to  the  cemetery, 
naked,  upon  a  car,  so  that  the  multitude  might 
see  with  their  own  eyes,  the  manifest  marks, 
and  horrible  seal  of  the  pestilence.  A  shout 
of  horror  and  dread  arose  wherever  the  car 
passed,  a  continued  murmur  reigned  where  it 
had  passed,  and  another  fearful  one  preceded 
it.  The  plague  was  less  doubted,  and  every 
day  made  itself  new  converts,  a  state  of  things 
that  served  to  increase  the  extension  of  it. 

At  first  then  it  was  not  the  plague,  abso- 
lutely not,  in  no  manner  whatever ;  it  was  even 
prohibited  to  use  the  word.  Then  it  was  ad- 
mitted to  be  a  pestilential  fever,  the  idea  of 
the  plague  obliquely  insinuating  itself  in  the 
adjective  form.  Next,  it  was  not  the  true 
plague,  that  is  to  say,  it  was  a  sort  of  plague, 
out  only  in  a  certain  sense ;  not  the  plague  com- 
pletely and  entirely,  but  a  thing  that  no  other 
name  but  that  could  be  found  lor.  At  length 
it  got  to  be  the  plague  without  doubt  and  with- 
out dispute ;  but  here  another  idea  attaches  it- 
self, that  of  poisoning  and  sorcery,  altering  and 
confounding  the  idea  expressed  by  the  simple 
word,  which,  however,  it  is  now  too  late  to  dis- 
pense with. 

I  do  not  think  it  requires  to  be  much  versed 
in  the  history  of  ideas  and  words,  to  see  that 
many  of  them  have  had  a  similar  course. — 
Heaven  be  praised,  there  are  not  many  of  the 
character  and  importance  of  this,  and  which 
vindicate  their  identity  at  so  great  a  cost,  and 
to  which  accessories  can  be  attached  of  this 
kind.  We  might  however,  in  small  and  great 


'  Tardino,  p.  93, 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


affairs,  avoid  in  a  great  degree  such  a  long  and 
tortuous  direction,  adopting  the  method  which 
has  been  so  long  since  proposed,  of  observing, 
listening,  comparing,  and  thinking  before  talk- 
ing. 

But  as  to  talking,  it  is  such  a  simple  mat- 
ter, and  so  much  more  easy  to  do  than  all 
those  other  faculties  put  together,  that  even 
we,  I  speak  of  men  in  general,  are  not  a  little 
to  be  pitied. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  difficulty  continually  increasing  of  sup- 
plying the  painful  exigency  of  circumstances, 
it  was  determined  by  the  council  of  decurions 
on  the  4th  of  March,  to  have  recourse  for  aid, 
and  as  a  favor,  to  the  governor ;  and,  on  the 
22d,  two  of  that  body  were  despatched  to  the 
camp,  to  represent  to  him  the  great  distresses 
of  the  city,  the  enormous  expenses,  the  trea- 
sury exhausted  and  indebted  ;  the  future  rents 
pledged,  the  current  taxes  unpaid  on  account 
of  the  general  impoverishment  produced  by  so 
many  causes,  and  the  destruction  of  other  re- 
sources by  the  military :  to  lay  before  him  for 
his  consideration,  that  by  uninterrupted  laws 
and  custom,  and  by  a  special  decree  of  Charles 
V,  the  expenses  of  the  plague  were  borne  by 
the  public  revenue  ;  that  during  the  pestilence 
of  1576,  the  marquis  of  Ayamonte,  then  gover- 
nor, had  not  only  suspended  the  impositions  of 
the  chamber  of  accounts,  but  had  relieved  the 
city  by  advancing  40,000  crowns  from  the  said 
chamber :  finally  they  were  to  ask  four  things, 
that  the  impositions  should  be  suspended,  as 
at  that  period ;  that  the  chamber  should  ad- 
vance money ;  that  the  governor  should  inform 
the  king  of  the  wretchedness  of  the  city  and 
the  province,  and  that  the  Dutchy  should  be 
excused  from  quartering  any  more  troops,  as 
it  had  been  consumed  and  destroyed  by  those 
who  had  passed. 

Spinola  returned  for  answer,  condolences,and 
new  exhortations ;  it  grieved  him  that  he  could 
not  be  in  the  city,  that  he  might  exert  every 
effort  to  relieve  it,  but  trusted  that  his  place 
would  be  supplied  by  the  zeal  of  the  members 
of  the  tribunal :  it  was  a  moment  to  expend 
money  without  any  regard  to  economy,  and  to 
avail  themselves  of  every  ingenious  resource. 
As  to  the  demands  made'of  him,  he  would  at- 
tend to  them  in  the  most  efficacious  way  that 
time  and  the  present  necessity  admitted  of. — 
But  this  was  all  that  was  done,  new  journies 
were  undertaken,  and  new  demands  and  new 
answers  took  place,  but  I  do  not  discover  that 
they  came  to  any  closer  conclusions.  At  a 
later  period,  when  the  pestilence  was  at  its 
height,  the  governor  thought  proper  to  dele- 
gate his  authority  by  letters-patent,  to  the  great 
chancellor  Ferrer,  having,  as  he  stated,  to  at- 
tend to  the  affairs  of  the  war. 


Together  with  that  determination  of  the  tri- 
bunal, the  decurions  adopted  another,  which 
was,  to  request  the  cardinal  archbishop  to  or- 
der a  solemn  procession  to  be  made  of  the  body 
of  St.  Charles  through  the  city. 

The  good  prelate  refused  for  many  reasons. 
He  was  not  pleased  with  the  reliance  they 
appeared  to  place  upon  means  that  were  so 
purely  arbitrary,  and  feared  that  if  they  did 
not  produce  the  expected  effects,  as  he  doubt- 
ed might  be  the  case,  their  faith  might  give 
rise  to  some  scandal.*  He  feared  besides,  that, 
if  there  really  were  those  anointers,  the  proces- 
sion might  prove  loo  commodious  an  opportu- 
nity for  the  commission  of  crime  ;  and  if  there 
were  not,  such  an  assemblage  of  itself  could 
not  but  spread  the  contagion,  a  much  greater 
danger.} 

The  suspicion  of  these  anointers,  which  had 
been  lulled,  had  in  the  meantime  broken  out 
again,  more  generally  and  more  furious  than 
ever. 

It  had  been  again  observed,  or  this  time  men 
had  seemed  to  nave  observed,  that  the  walls, 
the  doors  of  public  and  private  buildings,  and 
the  knockers  to  private  doors  had  been  anoint- 
ed. The  news  of  this  discovery  n"ew  from 
mouth  to  mouth,  and  as  usually  occurs  where 
prejudice  is  strong,  the  report  of  the  fact  pro- 
duced the  same  ertect  that  ocular  demonstra- 
tion of  it  would  have  done.  Their  minds  still 
more  embittered  by  the  presence  of  evils,  irri- 
tated by  the  obstinacy  of  the  danger,  more 
willingly  lent  themselves  to  the  belief.  Anger 
is  impatient  to  punish,— and  as  a  very  worthy 
writer^:  acutely  observes  on  this  head, — prefers 
to  attribute  evil  to  human  wickedness,  against 
which  it  can  direct  its  tormenting  activity, 
rather  than  trace  it  to  a  cause,  against  which 
there  is  nothing  left  but  resignation.  An  ex- 
quisite poison,  instantaneous,  and  most  penetra- 
ting, were  words  more  than  sufficient  to  ex- 
plain the  violence,  with  all  the  most  obscure 
and  irregular  accidents  of  the  disease.  The 
poison  was  said  to  be  composed  of  toads,  of 
serpents,  of  the  pus  and  foam  of  infected  per- 
sons, and  of  every  thing  that  the  most  perverse 
and  wild  imaginations  could  conceive  that  was 
filthy  and  atrocious.  To  these  sorcery  was 
added,through  the  efficacy  of  which  every  effect 
became  possible,  every  objection  lost  its  force, 
every  difficulty  was  resolved.  If  the  result 
had  not  immediately  followed  that  first  unction, 
the  reason  was  obvious,  it  had  been  an  abor- 
tive attempt  of  poisoners  yet  novices ;  now 
they  were  perfect  in  the  art,  and  their  inclina- 


*  Memoria  delle  cose  notabili  successe  in  Milano  in- 
tonio  al  mal  contagioso  1'aimo,  1630,  etc.  raccolte  da 
D.  Pio  la  Croce  di  Milano,  1730.  And  evidently  tak- 
ing from  an  inedited  M3S.  of  the  author,  who  lived  at 
the  period  of  the  pestilence ;  if,  indeed,  it  is  not  a  sim- 
ple copy  of  it,  rather  than  a  new  compilation. 

t  Si  unguentascelerata  et  unctores  in  urbe  essent... 
Si  non  essent...  certiusque  adeo  inaliuu.  Ripamonti, 
p.  188. 

}P.  Verri,  Osservazioni  sulla  tortura  Scrittori  ita- 
liani  di  4conomia  politica,  pnrte  moderna.  torn.  17, 
p.  203. 


204 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


tions  more  bent  upon  the  infernal  attempt. — 
Now  any  one  who  continued  to  maintain  that 
it  had  been  a  joke,  and  who  ventured  to  deny 
the  existence  of  a  conspiracy,  passed  for  a 
blind  and  obstinate  person,  if  he  did  not  fall 
under  the  suspicion  of  being  interested  in  di- 
verting the  public  suspicion  from  the  truth,  of 
being  an  accomplice,  and  an  anointer.  The 
wora  soon  became  common,  and  took  a  solemn 
and  tremendous  signification.  With  the  per- 
suasion that  there  were  such  persons  as  anoin- 
ters,  it  seemed  as  if  they  must  be  infallibly  dis- 
covered, all  were  on  the  watch,  every  act  cre- 
ated suspicion,  and  suspicion  became  on  the 
slightest  grounds  certainty,  and  this  last  made 
men  furious. 

Ripamonti  gives  us  two  examples  of  this, 
stating  that  he  had  selected  them  not  as  the 
most  remarkable  that  occurred  at  the  period, 
but  that  he  could  speak  of  them  both  as  having 
witnessed  them. 

In  the  church  of  St.  Anthony,  upon  a  day  of 
some  particular  solemnity,  an  old  man,  more 
than  eighty  years  old,  after  having  prayed  on 
his  knees,  wished  to  seat  himself,  and  before  he 
did  so,  dusted  the  bench  with  the  end  of  his 
cloak.  "  That  old  man  is  anointing  the 
benches,"  exclaimed  all  together,  some  wo- 
men who  saw  him  doing  it.  The  people  that 
were  in  the  church  (in  the  church  ?)  fell  up- 
on the  old  man,  they  pulled  out  his  grey  hairs, 
struck  him,  and  kicked  him,  dragged  him  out 
half  alive,  to  take  him  to  prison,  before  the 
judges,  and  to  the  torture.  "  I  saw  him  treat- 
ed in  that  manner,"  says  Ripamonti,  "  nor 
could  I  learn  what  was  the  end  of  it,  but  be- 
lieve he  could  not  survive  it  more  than  a  few 
moments." 

The  other  case,  which  occurred  the  follow- 
ing day,  was  equally  strange,  though  not  equal- 
ly fatal.  Three  young  Frenchmen,  compa- 
nions, one  a  man  of  letters,  another  a  painter, 
and  the  third  a  mechanic,  being  come  to  see 
Italy,  to  study  its  antiquities,  or  to  seek  an 
opportunity  of  making  money,  were  together 
in  some  place  at  the  outside  of  the  cathedral, 
and  were  examining  it  attentively.  Twoorthree 

Eassers-by  stopped,  formed  a  group,  just  to 
»ok  on,  and  keep  an  eye  on  them,  whose  dress, 
hair,  and  wallets,  proclaimed  them  to  be  fo- 
reigners, and  what  was  worse,  Frenchmen. — 
As  if  to  ascertain  whether  the  cathedral  was 
built  of  marble,  they  stretched  out  their  hands 
to  touch  it.  That  was  enough  !  They  were 
surrounded,  seized,  ill  treated,  and  driven  furi- 
ously with  blows  to  prison.  By  good  luck,  the 
palace  of  justice  is  not  far  from  the  cathederal, 
and  what  was  still  more  fortunate,  they  were 
pronounced  innocent,  and  released. 

Nor  did  such  things  occur  only  in  the  city — 
this  kind  of  delusion  had  propagated  itself  as 
well  as  the  contagion.  If  a  traveler  was  met 
by  any  country  people  out  of  the  high  road,  or 
when  he  was  in  it  if  he  appeared  to  be  loiter- 
ing, or  was  stretched  out  on  the  ground  to  rest 
himself;  if  any  unknown  person  was  ^en  that 
had  any  thing  strange  about  him,  an  unprepos- 


sessing countenance,  or  an  unusual  dress,  there 
were  anointers.*  At  the  first  information 
given  by  any  person  whatever,  even  at  the 
screaming  out  of  a  boy,  the  bell  was  rung  and 
the  people  collected :  the  unhappy  wretches 
were  pelted  with  showers  of  stones,  or  were 
seized  and  furiously  carried  to  prison.  And 
prison,  up  to  a  certain  period,  was  a  harbor  of 
safety.f 

But  the  decurions,  not  discouraged  by  the 
refusal  of  the  sage  prelate,  repeated  their  in- 
stances with  him,  loudly  seconded  by  the  pub- 
lic voice.  He  persisted  for  some  time,  and 
sought  to  dissuade  them;  so  much  and  not 
more  was  the  wisdom  of  one  man  able  effect 
against  the  will  of  the  times,  and  the  obstinacy 
of  the  many.  In  that  state  of  opinions,  with 
such  an  idea  of  the  danger,  confused  and  con- 
tested as  it  was  at  that  period,  and  far  from  the 
enlightened  views  we  nave  in  our  own  days, 
we  can  easily  comprehend  how  his  excellent 
reasons,  might,  even  in  his  own  mind,  be  sub- 
dued by  the  insufficient  ones  of  others.  Whe- 
ther in  yielding,  a  weakness  of  the  will  had  or 
had  not  a  part,  is  a  mystery  of  the  human  heart. 
Certainly  if  in  any  case  we  may  seem  to 
be  able  to  attribute  error  altogether  to  intel- 
lect, it  is  when  we  are  judging  the  few,  (and 
he  was  one  of  the  number)  in  whose  whole 
life  there  appears  a  determined  obedience  to 
the  voice  of  conscience,  without  relation  to 
temporal  interests  of  any  kind  whatever.  Their 
instances  then  being  repeated,  he  yielded,  con- 
sented to  the  procession,  and  to  the  general  de- 
sire and  anxiety  that  the  coffin  where  the  relics 
of  St.  Charles  were  deposited,  should  be  ex- 
posed for  eight  days,  to  the  whole  public,  up- 
on the  principal  altar  of  the  cathedral. 

I  do  not  find,  that  the  tribunal  of  health,  or 
any  one  else,  made  any  opposition  or  remon- 
strance of  any  kind,  but  only  that  the  tribunal 
directed  some  precautions  to  be  taken,  which 
without  obviating  the  danger,  still  conveyed  a 
feeling  respecting  it.  Regulations  of  a  stricter 
kind  were  ordered  respecting  the  admission  of 
persons  into  the  city ;  and  to  ensure  the  execu- 
tion of  them,  the  gates  were  ordered  to  be  clos- 
ed ;  and  that  the  assemblage  of  the  people 
might  be  excluded  as  far  as  it  was  possible, 
from  the  infected,  and  those  who  were  suspi- 
cioned  of  being  so,  the  doors  of  the  houses  that 
were  under  sequestration  were  nailed  up  ;  the 
number  of  which,  as  far  as  the  assertion  of  a 
writer  of  that  period  may  be  relied  on,  was 
about  five  hundred4 

Three  days  were  spent  in  preparations ;  the 
llth  of  June,  which  was  the  day  fixed  upon, 
the  procession,  at  the  dawn,  moved  from  the  ca- 
thedral. A  long  crowd  of  people  preceded  it, 
women  for  the  greater  part,  their  faces  covered 
with  ample  veils,  many  of  them  barefooted  and 
dressed  in  sackcloth.  'Then  followed  the  arts, 
preceded  by  their  standards,  the  coniraterni- 


*  Untori.  t  Hipam.  p.  91, 93. 

}  Alleggiamento  detlo  stato  dl  Milnno,  etc.  diC.  G. 
Cavatio  aella  Somaglia.    MUaiio,  1653,  p.  4S2. 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


205 


ties  dressed  in  various  devices  and  colors ;  next 
the  friars,  then  the  secular  clergy,  all  with  the 
symbols  of  their  rank,  carrying  a  lighted  wax 
candle.  In  the  centre,  amidst  the  thickest 
light  of  the  torches,  where  the  loudest  chant 
was  heard,  the  coffin,  under  a  rich  canopy,  was 
oorne,  supported  by  four  canons  dressed  in 
great  pomp.  Through  the  crystal  sides  of  the 
coffin  the  venerated  body  was  seen,  clothed  in 
splendid  pontifical  habits,  with  a  mitre  on  the 
head ;  amidst  the  mutilated  and  deranged  fea- 
tures some  vestiges  might  yet  be  perceived  of 
the  former  face,  such  as  it  is  represented  in 
images,  and  as  some  remembered  to  have  seen 
and  honored  it  during  his  life.  Behind  the 
spoils  of  the  deceased  pastor,  (says  Ripamon- 
b,*)  from  whom,  principally,  we  take  this  de- 
scription, and  nearest  to  them,  on  account  of 
his  blood  and  dignity,  as  well  as  his  personal 
claims,  came  the  archbishop  Federigo.  The 
remaining  part  of  the  clergy  followed  him,  and 
next  to  them  were  the  magistrates  who  pre- 
sided upon  great  occasions  :  then  the  nobles, 
Borne  of  them  splendidly  adorned  to  honor  this 
solemn  act  of  religion,  others,  as  a  mark  of 
penitence,  humbly  attired,  or  with  their  feet 
naked,  covered  with  sackcloth,  their  hoods 
drawn  over  their  heads,  all  of  them  with  large 
torches.  Last  of  all  came  a  mixed  crowd  of 
the  people. 

The  streets  where  the  procession  passed 
were  festively  decorated ;  the  rich  had  exposed 
all  their  most  splendid  furniture ;  the  fronts  of 
the  houses  of  the  poor  were  dressed  by  the 
richer  neighbors,  or  by  the  public :  leafy  boughs 
were  fixed  about  the  decorations ;  pictures,mot- 
tos,  and  devices  were  hanging  in  every  direc- 
tion. Upon  the  window  sills  were  numerous 
vases,  antiquities,  and  precious  things,  wiAl 
flambeaux  every  where.  At  many  of  the  win- 
dows the  sick,  who  where  secluded,  were  wit- 
nesses of  the  pomp,  and  mingled  their  prayers 
with  those  of  the  procession.  The  other  streets 
were  silent  and  deserted,  except  where  some, 
also  from  the  windows  were  listening  to  catch 
the  wandering  sound;  others,  and  amongst 
these  were  nuns,  had  got  upon  the  roofs,  to  try 
whether  from  that  distance  they  could  get  a 
sight  of  the  coffin,  the  procession  or  any  thing 
else. 

The  procession  passed  through  the  different 
quarters  of  the  city;  at  each  of  the  small  squares, 
where  the  principal  streets  enter  into  the  Bor- 
ghi  or  main  ones,  and  which  then  preserved  the 
ancient  name  of  Carrobii,  now  retained  only 
by  one  of  them,  it  made  a  halt,  and  the  coffin 
was  brought  near  to  the  cross,  which  in  each 
of  them  had  been  erected  in  the  preceding  pes- 
tilence by  St.  Charles,  and  a  few  of  which  still 
exist.  It  was  past  midday  when  it  got  back 
to  the  cathedral. 

On  the  succeeding  day,  amidst  the  presump- 
tuous confidence  which  reigned,  and  the  fana- 
tical certainty  which  many  enjoyed  that  the 
procession  would  certainly  put  an  end  to  the 

*  Pages  62, 66. 


plague,  lo,and  behold,  the  deaths  in  every  class, 
increased  to  such  a  disproportioned  height,  in 
every  part  of  the  city,  by  such  a  sudden  leap, 
that  it  was  scarce  possible  for  any  one  to  doubt 
that  the  procession  itself  was  the  true  cause 
But,  oh  strange  and  distressing  force  of  gene- 
ral prejudice  !  not  to  the  so  much  prolonged 
and  close  pressure  of  persons,  not  to  the  infi- 
nite multiplication  of  incidents  of  fortuitous 
contact,  was  this  result  attributed ;  but  to  the 
facility  which  the  anointers  had  enjoyed  of  per- 
petrating upon  a  great  scale  their  iniquitous 
designs.  It  was  said,  that  mixed  up  in  the 
crowd,  they  had  infected  with  their  unguents 
as  many  persons  as  they  had  been  able  to  do ; 
but  as  this  did  not  appear  an  appropriate  and 
sufficient  way  to  account  for  a  mortality  so  vast 
and  wide  spread,  in  eveiy  class  of  society,  and, 
as  it  appears,  it  had  not  been  possible  for  any 
eye,  however  attentive,  and  inquisitively  sus- 
picious to  perceive  any  thing  like  ointments  or 
spot?  or  stains  of  any  kind  during  the  whole 
procession,  they  had  recourse,  in  order  to  ex- 
plain the  fact,  to  the  old  story  that  still  main- 
tained its  place  in  the  science  of  the  day,  such 
as  it  was  then  in  Europe,  of  poisonous  and 
magical  powders  :  it  was  asserted  that  these 
powders  scattered  along  the  streets  and  prin- 
cipally at  those  places  where  the  procession 
stopped,  attached  themselves  to  the  skirts  of 
of  garments,  and  especially  to  the  people's  feet, 
a  great  portion  of  whom  had  gone  that  day 
barefooted.  "The  same  day  of  the  proces- 
sion, witnessed,"  says  a  contemporaneous  wri- 
ter,* "  a  conflict  between  piety  and  impiety, 
perfidy  and  sincerity,  loss  and  gain."  Whilst 
instead  of  this,  it  was  poor  human  weakness 
struggling  with  the  phantasms  created  by  it- 
self. 

From  that  day,  the  fury  of  the  contagion, 
kept  on  increasing,  and  in  a  short  time  there 
was  scarce  a  house  that  was  not  infected.  The 
population  of  the  lazaretto,  according  to  Soma- 
glia,  whom  we  before  quoted,  soon  rose  from 
two  to  twelve  thousand  persons,  and  in  time, 
as  all  agree,  it  amounted  to  sixteen  thousand. 
On  the  4th  of  July,  as  I  find  in  another  letter 
of  the  conservators  of  health  to  the  governor, 
the  daily  mortality  exceeded  five  hundred. — 
Afterwards,  and  when  it  reached  its  height,  it 
went  up  to,  and  remained  at — according  to  the 
most  general  computation,  twelve  hundred  and 
fifteen  hundred :  and  if  we  are  to  believe  Tar- 
dino,t  it  more  than  once  exceeded  three  thou- 
sand five  hundred  in  one  day. 

It  may  be  imagined  what  distress  the  decu- 
rions  were  in,  upon  whom  was  laid  the  re- 
sponsibility of  providing  for  the  public  necessi- 
ties, and  of  repairing  whatever  was  suscepti- 
ble of  remedy  in  a  disaster  of  this  kind.  It 
was  necessary  every  day  to  make  new  arrange- 
ments, and  to  increase  the  number  of  people  in 
the  public  service  of  every  kind.  The  Monat- 


*  Agostino  Lampugnano,  La  Pestllenza  seguita  in 
Milano,  1'anno  1630.    Milano,  1634,  p.  44. 
t  Pages  115, 117. 


206 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


ti,  a  denomination  very  ancient,  and  of  obscure 
origin,  was  the  name  given  to  thos°  who  offi- 
ciated in  the  most  painful  and  dangerous  ser- 
vices of  the  pestilence,  who  removed  the  dead 
from  their  houses,  from  the  streets,  and  the 
lazaretto,  and  drove  them  to  the  pits  to  be  bu- 
ried ;  whose  business  also  it  was  to  conduct  the 
sick  to  the  lazaretto,  to  nurse  them  there,  to 
burn  and  purify  every  thing  that  was  infected, 
or  was  supposed  to  be  so.  The  dpparitori 
were  persons  whose  especial  office  it  was  to 
precede  the  cars,  giving  notice  to  passengers 
with  the  sound  of  a  bell,  that  they  should  keep 
out  of  the  way :  then  there  were  commissaries 
who  regulated  both  these  classes,  and  they 
were  under  the  immediate  orders  of  the  tribu- 
nal of  health.  It  was  necessary  to  keep  the 
lazaretto  supplied  with  physicians,  surgeons, 
medicine,  food,  and  every  thing  requisite  for 
such  zn  infirmary,  and  to  find  and  prepare  new 
lodgings  for  the  new  cases  that  came.  To  this 
end,  they  constructed  in  great  haste  cabins 
made  of  wood  and  straw  in  the  interior  part  of 
the  lazaretto.  A  new  building  was  construct- 
ed, entirely  of  cabins,  and  enclosed  with  boards, 
capable  ol  containing  four  thousand  persons : 
and  this  not  sufficing,  two  others  were  decreed 
and  commenced,  but  on  account  of  the  want  of 
materials  of  every  kind,  they  were  left  incom- 
plete. Means,  persons,  and  courage,  all  di- 
minished in  proportion  as  the  want  of  them 
increased. 

And  not  only  was  the  execution  always  in 
arrears  of  the  plans  conceived,  and  the  orders 
issued ;  not  only,  many  necessitous  cases,which 
were  too  well  known,  were  poorly  provided  for, 
even  by  words ;  things  reached  that  degree  of 
impotence  and  desperation,  that  many  cases, 
ana  those  of  the  most  piteous  kind,  and  of  the 
greatest  urgency,  were  not  attended  to  at  all. 
— An  immense  number  of  children,  for  in- 
stance, whose  mothers  had  died  of  the  plague, 
perished  in  a  state  of  entire  abandonment :  the 
tribunal  proposed  to  establish  an  asylum  for 
these,  and  for  necessitous  lying-in  women,  that 
something  might  be  done  lor  them,  but  nothing 
could  be  effected.  "  The  decurions  of  the  city, 
however,  "  says  Tardino,  "  deserved  to  be  pi- 
tied ;  afflicted,  sorrowful,  and  harassed  as  they 
were  by  the  excesses  of  the  soldiery,  who  were 
perfectly  lawless,  and  who  had  no  respect  for 
any  body,  especially  in  the  unhappy  autchy ; 
neither  aid  nor  provisions  could  fee  obtained 
from  the  governor,  nor  any  thing  but  a  remark 
"  that  it  was  war  time,  and  the  soldiers  must  be 
well  treated."  Of  such  great  importance  was 
it  to  take  Casale  !  so  much  attraction  had  the 
praise  of  victory  for  him,  without  reference  to 
the  cause,  or  end  for  which  he  was  fighting ! 

At  length,  the  ample  and  only  pit  there  was, 
and  which  had  been  dug  near  the  lazaretto, 
being  entirely  filled  with  dead  bodies,  and  in 
every  part  ot  the  city,  the  new  corpses  which 
every  day  produced,  in  increased  numbers,  ly- 
ing unburied,  the  magistrates,  after  in  vain 
seeking  for  laborers  to  employ  at  this  melan- 
choly work,  were  brought  to  the  necessity  of 


declaring  mat  they  no  longer  knew  what  to  do. 
Nor  do  we  see  what  the  result  would  have 
been,  if  extraordinary  succor  had  not  come  to 
their  aid.  The  president  of  the  tribunal,  in 
despair,  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  asked  those 
worthy  friars  who  managed  the  lazaretto,  to  aid 
him,  and  father  Michele  engaged  at  the  end  of 
four  days  to  clear  the  city  entirely  of  the  dead, 
and  at  the  end  of  eight,  to  prepare  pits  suffici- 
ent not  only  for  the  present  necessity,  bat  for 
the  worst  state  of  things  that  could  possibly 
occur  for  the  future.  With  a  friar,  his  com- 
panion, and  with  some  officers  given  to  him  by 
the  president  as  his  assistants,  he  left  the  city 
to  seek  for  some  country  people,  and  partly  by 
the  authority  of  the  tribunal,  partly  by  that  of 
his  habit  and  his  words,  he  collected  two  hun- 
dred, and  set  three  divisions  of  them  at  differ- 
ent excavations  :  he  then  despatched  Monatti 
from  the  lazaretto  to  collect  the  dead,  so  that 
at  the  day  fixed,  his  promise  was  entirely  ac- 
complished. 

Upon  one  occasion  the  lazaretto  was  left  un- 
provided with  physicians,  and  with  offers  of 
large  stipends  and  honors,  some  were  obtain- 
ed, but  with  great  trouble  and  not  immediate- 
ly, but  far  beneath  the  number  actually  re- 
quired. Frequently  provisions  were  wanting, 
so  as  to  create  apprehensions  that  the  popula- 
tion would  die  of  want ;  and  more  than  once, 
when  they  were  endeavoring  by  every  means 
to  procure  commodities  or  money,  scarcely 
hoping  to  get  them,  and  then  not  to  get  them  in 
season,  abundant  subsidies  came  in  time,  the 
unexpected  tribute  of  private  compassion ;  for 
amidst  the  general  stupefaction,  the  indiffer- 
ence for  others,  springing  from  the  apprehen- 
sions of  men  on  their  own  account,  there  were 
always  minds  awake  to  charity ;  others  there 
were  in  whose  breasts  charity  sprung  up,  when 
earthly  pleasures  were  all  subdued,  just  as  in 
the  destruction  and  flight  of  many,  whose  duty 
it  was  to  superintend  and  to  provide,  some 
there  were  who  stood  to  their  posts,  with  sound 
health  and  unsubdued  courage  :  there  were  also 
others  who,  impelled  by  piety,  bravely  took 
upon  themselves  the  duty  of  assisting  the  sick, 
which  they  were  not  officially  called  to  do. 

But  where  the  most  general  and  voluntary 
fidelity  to  the  difficult  duties  of  the  moment, 
shone  forth,  was  amongst  the  ecclesiastics.— 
At  the  lazarettos,  and  in  tha  city,  their  assist- 
ance never  was  wanting ;  where  suffering  was, 
they  were  sure  to  be  found  :  they  were  always 
seen  mixed  up,  and  scattered  about  amongst 
the  languishing  and  the  dying,  even  when 
they  themselves  were  often  languishing  and 
dying.  Of  spiritual  succors  they  were  prodi- 
gal, and  of  temporal  ones  also,  as  much  as  they 
were  able,  they  lent  themselves  to  every  service 
where  they  could  be  useful.  More  than  sixty 
parish  priests,  of  the  city  alone,  died  of  conta- 
gion— about  eight  out  of  nine  of  the  whole  num- 
ber. 

Federigo  gave  to  all — as  incitement  and  ex- 
ample was  to  be  expected  from  him,  almost  all 
his  archiepiscopal  family  had  perished  around 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


207 


him ;  and  his  relations,  magistrates  of  the  high- 
est rank,  and  the  neighboring  princes  solicit- 
ing him  to  withdraw  from  the  danger  to  some 
solitary  villa,  he  rejected  their  counsel,  and  in- 
stances, with  the  same  courage  that  led  him  to 
write  to  his  parish  priests,  "  may  you  be  dis- 
posed to  abandon  this  mortal  life,  rather  than 
this  family,  these  children  of  ours :  go  with 
your  hearts  full  of  love  to  front  the  pestilence, 
as  you  would  go  to  a  life,  to  a  reward,  as  long 
as  there  is  a  soul  to  gain  to  Christ."*  Still  he 
neglected  no  precaution  that  might  prevent  him 
from  doing  his  duty,  respecting  which  he  also 
gave  instructions  to  his  clergy,  yet  at  the  same 
time  he  was  indifferent  to,  nor  seemed  to  shun 
any  danger,  where  it  was  possible  to  do  good, 
by  encountering  it.  Without  speaking  of  ec- 
clesiastics, with  whom  he  always  was,  to 
praise  and  regulate  their  zeal,  to  excite  those 
who  went  coldly  to  work,  to  replace  those  at 
the  posts  whom  death  had  carried  away,  he 
was  desirous  that  access  should  be  free  to  who- 
ever wished  to  see  him.  He  visited  the  laza- 
rettos to  give  consolation  to  the  sick,  and  to 
encourage  the  assistants;  and  ran  through  the 
city,  carrying  succors  to  the  poor  people  who 
were  sequestered  in  their  houses,  stopping  at 
the  doors,  and  beneath  the  windows,  to  listen  to 
their  complaints,  and  give  words  of  consolation 
and  encouragement  in  return.  Thus  did  he 
go  about  and  live  in  the  midst  of  the  pestilence, 
astonished  himself  at  the  end  of  it,  that  he 
should  come  out  of  it  harmless. 

Thus  in  public  misfortunes,  and  in  continu- 
ed perturbations,  to  whatever  extent  they  may 
be  carried,of  public  tranquillity,  we  always  wit- 
ness an  increase,  nay  a  sublimation  of  virtue, 
but  unfortunately  there  is  also  never  wanting 
an  increase,  usually  much  more  general,  of  pei- 
versity.  This,  also,  was  the  case  at  present. — 
The  scoundrels  that  the  plague  spared  and  did 
not  strike  down,  found  in  the  common  confu- 
sion, and  the  relaxation  of  the  public  authority, 
a  new  occasion  for  activity,  and  a  new  securi- 
ty for  impunity  at  the  same  time.  Indeed,  the 
practical  part  of  that  authority  fell  for  the  great- 
er part  into  the  hands  of  the  worst  of  them. — 
In  the  occupation  of  monatti  and  apparitori, 
those  men  only  engaged  in  general,  for  whom 
the  attractions  of  rapine  and  licentiousness 
were  stronger  than  tne  terrors  of  contagion, 
and  every  natural  antipathy.  The  strictest 
rules  were  imposed  upon  them,  the  severest 
penalties  intimated,  stations  were  assigned  to 
them,  and  commissaries,  as  we  have  said  be- 
fore, placed  over  them.  Over  both  of  them 
noblemen  and  magistrates  were  appointed  in 
every  quarter,  with  authority  to  provide  sum- 
marily upon  every  occasion  where  discipline 
was  required.  Regulations  of  this  kind  pro- 
duced an  effect  for  a  while,  but  as  the  deaths  and 
the  general  abandonment  increased,  with  the 
want  of  presence  of  mind  of  those  who  survived, 
these  men  came  at  last  to  be  independent  of  all 
authority,  and  constituted  themselves,  especi- 

*  Bipamonti,  p.  164. 


ally  the  monatti,  the  arbiters  of  every  thing. 
They  entered  the  houses  as  masters,  and  as 
enemies,  and  without  speaking  of  the  plunder 
they  made,  or  of  the  manner  in  which  they 
treated  the  unhappy  wretches  reduced  by  the 
plague,  to  submit  to  their  indignities,  they 
laid  their  infected  and  villanous  hands  upon 
those  who  were  well,  upon  children,  parents, 
husbands,  wives,  threatening  to  drag  them  to 
the  lazaretto,  if  they  did  not  ransom  them- 
selves, or  did  not  cause  themselves  to  be  ran- 
somed at  their  own  price.  At  other  times,  they 
fixed  a  price  upon  their  services,  refusing  to 
remove  the  dead,  which  were  in  a  state  of  pu- 
trefaction, if  they  were  not  paid  so  many 
crowns.  It  was  said,  (and  between  the  stu- 
pidity of  some,  and  the  villany  of  others,  it  is 
equally  unsafe  to  believe  or  to  disbelieve)  and 
Tadino  affirms  it  to  be  so,*  that  both  the  mo- 
natti and  apparitori  let  infected  things  drop  on 
purpose  from  the  cars,  to  propagate  and  in- 
crease the  pestilence,  which  had  come  for 
them  a  revenue,  a  kingdom,  a  feast.  Other 
wretches,  pretending  to  be  monatti,  carrying 
bells  attached  to  their  feet,  as  was  prescribed 
to  them,  that  notice  might  be  thus  given  of 
their  approach,  introduced  themselves  into  the 
houses,  in  order  to  act  their  own  pleasure.  la 
some  of  those  which  were  open  and  without 
inhabitants,  or  inhabited  only  by  some  invalid, 
or  dying  person,  thieves  entered  without  any 
restraint  to  get  booty ;  others  were  surprized 
and  entered  by  the  birri,  who  committed  rob- 
beries and  excesses  of  every  kind. 

At  an  equal  pace  with  the  perversity,  the 
madness  of  the  people  increased.  All  the  ru- 
ling errors  more  or  less,  derived  from  the  as- 
tonishment and  the  agitation  of  the  public 
mind,  acquired  an  extraordinary  force,  and  a 
more  extensive  and  precipitous  application. 
Every  thing  served  to  strengthen  and  to  in- 
crease that  especial  madness  about  anointing ; 
the  which,  in  its  effects  and  violent  action,  was 
frequently,  as  we  have  seen,  another  perver- 
sity. The  idea  of  the  supposed  danger  be- 
sieged and  harrassed  their  minds  infinitely 
more  than  the  real  and  present  danger.  "  And 
whilst,"  says  Ripamonti,  "  the  carcasses  lying 
about,  or  the  heaps  of  carcasses  always  before 
the  public  eye,  always  betwixt  the  feet  of  the 
living,  turned  the  whole  city  into  one  great  fu- 
neral, there  was  something  still  more  fatal,  a 
still  greater  public  deformity  in  that  reciprocal 
irritation,  that  licenciousness,  that  monstrous 
state  of  suspicion — men  did  not  doubt  their 
neighbors,  their  friends,  their  guests,  alone  ; 
but  those  endearing  names,  those  links  of  hu- 
man charity,  husband  and  wife,  father  and  son, 
brother  and  brother,  were  objects  of  mutual 
terror,  and  a  most  horrible  and  unworthy  thing 
to  say !  the  domestic  table,  and  the  nuptial 
bed,  were  feared  as  so  many  treacheries,  where 
poison  was  concealed. 

The  vastness  and  the  strangeness  of  the  sap- 
posed  conspiracy  disturbed  all  minds,  and  un- 

*P.  108. 


208 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


settled  the  entire  basis  of  mutual  confidence. 
Besides  ambition  and  cupidity,  which  at  first 
were  imagined  to  be  the  leading  motives  of 
the  anointers,  people  fancied  and  believed  there 
existed  a  diabolical  voluptuousness  in  the  act, 
and  an  attraction  in  it  that  entirely  governed 
the  will.  The  deliriums  of  the  sick  who 
accused  themselves  of  that  which  they  had 
feared  in  others,  seemed  to  be  revelations,  and 
rendered  every  tiling,  as  it  were,  credible  of 
every  one.  And  their  acts  produced  even  a 
stronger  effect  than  their  words,  when  it  occa- 
sionally happened  that  infected  persons  when 
delirious  were  seen  going  through  motions, 
which  they  conceived  must  be  those  which  the 
anointers  used ;  a  circumstance  extremely  pro- 
bable, and  fitted  to  strengthen  the  general  be- 
lief, and  the  affirmations  of  many  writers.  In 
like  manner,  during  the  long  and  sad  period  of 
judicial  inquisitions  for  witchcraft,  the  confes- 
sions, not  always  extorted,  of  the  persons  of 
whom  it  was  imputed,  served  not  a  little  to 
promote  and  sustain  the  opinion  that  prevailed 
of  its  existence  :  for  when  an  opinion  prevails 
of  this  kind,  it  obtains  an  extensive  dominion 
over  the  human  mind,  expresses  itself  in  every 
possible  form,  tries  every  method  of  breaking 
out,  and  runs  through  every  degree  of  persua- 
sion ;  so  that  it  is  difficult  for  all  or  for  many 
to  believe  for  a  long  time,  that  a  thing  however 
strange  can  be  accomplished,  without  some 
one  imagining  he  is  capable  of  doing  it  him- 
self. 

Amongst  the  anecdotes  which  that  delirium 
of  the  anointers  produced,  one  of  them  de- 
serves to  be  mentioned,  on  account  of  the  credit 
it  received,  and  the  circulation  it  had.  It  was 
stated,  not  by  all  in  the  same  manner,  (that 
would  be  too  singular  a  privilege  of  fables)  but 
nearly  so,  that  a  certain  person  on  a  particular 
day,  had  seen  a  carriage  drawn  by  six  horses 
stop  in  the  square  of  the  cathedral,  containing 
a  great  personage,  having  his  suit  along  with 
him,  of  a  noble  aspect,  but  dark  and  em- 
browned, with  fiery  eyes,  his  hair  standing  on 
end,  and  his  lips  moving  with  a  menacing  mo- 
tion. The  spectator  was  invited  to  enter  the 
carriage,  and  got  in.  After  driving  awhile,  it 
stopped  at  the  door  of  a  palace,  where  they 
alighted,  and  he  entered  with  the  others,  where 
he  found  a  strange  contrast  of  amenity  and 
horror,  deserts  ana  gardens,  caverns  and  halls, 
with  phantasms  seated  there  in  council.  At 
last  large  chests  full  of  money  were  shown  to 
him,  and  he  was  told  he  might  take  as  much 
as  ever  he  pleased,  if  at  the  same  time  he 
would  accept  a  vessel  of  ointment,  and  go  and 
anoint  in  the  city  with  it.  The  which  having 
refused  to  do,  lie  found  himself  instantly  in 
the  same  place  from  whence  he  had  been 
taken  up.  This  story,  believed  generally  here, 
and  according  to  Ripamonti,  not  sufficiently 
derided  by  many  learned  persons,  ran  through 
all  Italy  and  beyond  it :  in  Germany  a  drawing 
was  made  of  it  and  printed,  and  the  elector 
archbishop  of  Mentz,  asked  of  cardinal  Fede- 
rigo  in  a  Fetter,  what  was  to  be  believed  of  the 


portents  that  were  spoken  of  in  Milan,  who 
re  turned  for  answer  that  they  were  all  dreams. 

Of  like  value,  if  they  were  not  in  every 
thing  of  the  same  nature,  were  the  dreams  of 
the  learned,  the  consequences  of  which  were 
equally  disastrous.  The  greater  part  of  these 
saw  as  the  herald  and  reason  of  all  these  mis- 
fortunes, the  comet  that  appeared  in  the  year 
1628,  and  in  a  conjunction  of  Saturn  with 
Jove,  "approaching,"  as  Tadino  says,*  "in 
the  year  1630,  so  manifestly,  that  every  one 
could  see  it.  Martales  parat  morbos,  miranda 
videnlur"]  This  prediction,  fabricated  I  can- 
not tell  when  or  by  whom,  was,  as  Ripamonti 
says,  in  every  mouth,  even  those  scarce  able 
to  utter  it  Another  comet  that  appeared  in 
June  of  the  same  year  as  the  pestilence,  was 
held  to  be  another  announcement,  and  indeed 
a  manifest  proof  of  the  anointings. 

They  examined  the  books,  and  unfortunately 
found  too  many  instances  of  the  plague  being 
thus  produced,  they  quoted  Livy,  Tacitus,  Dio, 
Homer>  Ovid,  and  many  other  ancient  writers 
who  have  treated  of  such  matters ;  of  the 
moderns  they  had  still  greater  abundance. 
They  cited  a  hundred  other  authors  who  have 
treated  the  subject  doctrinally,  or  incidentally 
spoken  of  poisons,  witchcraft,  ointments,  and 
powders.  They  quoted  Cesalpino,  Cardano, 
Grevino,  Salio,  'Pareo,  Schenchio,  Zachia,  and 
to  end  the  list  that  fatal  Delrio,  who,  if,  the 
fame  of  authors  was  in  proportion  to  the  good 
or  the  evil  produced  by  their  works,  ought  to 
be  one  of  the  most  famous  amongst  them  :  that 
Delrio,  whose  vigils  cost  more  men  their  lives 
than  the  enterpnzes  of  any  conqueror:  that 
Delrio,  whose  magical  disquisitions  (the  quin- 
tescence  of  all  the  ravings  that  men  had  in- 
dulged in  on  that  subject,  up  to  this  time)  had 
become  the  most  authoritative  and  irrefraga- 
ble text  book,  and  continued  to  be  for  a  cen- 
tury, the  rule  and  most  potent  impulse  of  legal, 
horrible  and  uninterrupted  executions. 

From  the  sayings  of  the  illiterate  Vulgar, 
educated  people  adopted  whatever  was  in  con- 
formity with  their  own  notions ;  and  from  the 
sayings  of  the  educated,  the  vulgar  took  what- 
ever they  could  understand,  after  their  own 
fashion ;  and  of  the  whole  of  this  there  was 
formed  an  indigested,  pitiless  heap  of  public 
extravagance. 

But  what  creates  the  greatest  surprise,  is  to 
see  the  physicians,  meaning  those  who  from 
the  first  had  believed  in  the  plague,  and  espe- 
cially Tadino  who  had  foretold  it,  had  observed 
its  first  approach,  and  kept  it  in  his  eye  during 
its  progress  ;  who  had  said  and  insisted  that  it 
was  the  plague  and  was  communicated  by  con- 
tact, and  that  if  a  remedy  was  not  applied,  a 
general  infection  would  unsue ;  to  see  nim  af- 
terwards from  these  circumstances  draw  posi- 
tive conclusions  in  favor  of  poisonous  and  ma- 
gical anointings ;  he  who  in  the  case  of  Carlo 
Colonna,  the  second  who  died  of  the  plague  in 
Milan,  had  remarked  the  delirium,  as  a  symp- 


>P,66, 


fP.273. 


1  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


209 


torn  of  the  malady :  to  see  him  afterwards,  as 
a  proof  of  anointings  and  diabolical  doings,  ad- 
duce a  fact  of  this  kind,  that  two  witnesses  de- 
posed to  having  heard  a  sick  friend  relate,  how 
in  the  night  persons  had  entered  his  room  to 
offer  him  health  and  money,  if  he  would  anoint 
the  houses  in  his  neighborhood,  and  that  on  his 
answering  that  he  would  not,  they  went  away, 
and  in  their  place  a  wolf  remained  under  the 
bed,  and  three  large  ugly  cats  on  the  top  of  it, 
"which  remained  there  until  day."  If  such 
nonsense  had  been  peculiar  to  one  man,  it 
might  be  attributed  to  his  gross  ignorance,  or 
to  an  idle  way  of  treating  the  subject,  peculiar 
to  himself,  and  would  not  have  been  worth 
mentioning ;  but  as  it  was  common  to  many, 
it  becomes  a  story  of  the  human  mind  ;  and  it 
is  to  be  remarked,  how  a  well  arrainged  and 
reasonable  series  of  ideas,  can  be  thrown  out  of 
order,  by  another  series  which  crosses  their 
track.  As  to  the  rest,  Tardino  was  one  of  the 
most  celebrated  men  of  his  day. 

Two  illustrious  and  deserving  writers,  have 
affirmed  that  cardinal  Federigo  nimself  enter- 
tained doubts  respecting  the  fact  of  these 
anointings.*  We  should  be  desirous  of  paying 
the  tribute  of  unblemished  praise  to  his  illus- 
trious and  amiable  memory,  and  to  represent 
the  good  prelate,  in  this,  as  in  so  many  other 
things,  standing  in  relief  from  the  crowd  of  his 
contemporaries ;  but  instead  of  this,  we  find 
ourselves  constrained  to  observe  in  his  persQn, 
an  example  of  the  power  which  universal  opin- 
ion can  exercise  even  in  the  noblest  minds. 
It  has  been  seen,  at  least  from  the  manner  in 
which  Ripamonti  relates  his  notions,  how  from 
the  beginning  he  reallyentertained  some  doubts; 
he  held  always  that  the  dupery,  the  ignorance, 
the  fear,  and  the  desire  to  excuse  the  long  neg- 
ligence in  protecting  themselves  from  the  con- 
tagion, contributed  much  to  cause  the  belief, 
that  there  was  a  great  deal  of  exaggeration,  but 
that  taking  it  altogether  there  was  something 
real  in  it. 

There  is  preserved  in  the  ambrosian  libra- 
ry, a  short  work  on  the  plague,  written  with 
his  own  hand,  of  which  this  is  one  of  the  many 
passages  where  he  expresses  his  opinion. — 
"  Of  the  method  of  compounding  and  spread- 
ing ointments  of  this  kind,  many  and  various 
things  have  been  said ;  some  of  which  we  hold 
to  be  true,  whilst  others  appear  to  be  altogether 
imaginary."t 

There  were,  however,  some  who  thought  to 
the  end,  and  at  all  times  after,  that  the  whole 
was  a  delusion :  we  know  this,  not  from  them 
selves,  for  no  one  had  the  boldness  to  avow  an 
opinion  so  much  opposed  to  the  general  one  : 
we  know  it  from  the  writers  who  deride  it,  or 


*  Muratori,  Del  governo  della  peste.    Modena  1714, 
p.  117.— P.  Verri,  opuscolo  citato,  261. 

f  Unguenta  vero  haec  aiebant  componi  conficique 
multifariam,  fraudisque  vias  esse  complures :  quorum 
sane  fraudum  et  artium.  aliis  quidem  assentimur, 
alias  vero  fictas  toisse  commentiti.isque  arbitramur. — 
De  peete  quae  Modielani,  anno  1690,  magiuun  stragem 
edidit.  Cap.  V, 
27 


reprehend  it,  or  confute  it,  as  the  prejudice  of  a 
few,  an  error  which  was  not  expected  to  be 
openly  disputed,  but  which  existed  ;  we  know 
it  also  from  one  who  had  it  from  tradition.  "  I 
lave  found  discreet  people  in  Milan,"  says  the 
rood  muratori,  in  the  above  quoted  passage, 
"  who  had  correct  accounts  from  their  ances- 
tors, and  who  were  quite  persuaded  that  there 
was  not  any  truth  in  these  poisonous  anoint- 
ings." This  we  can  see  was  a  secret  vent 
given  to  the  truth,  a  domestic  confidence ;  there 
was  good  sense  in  it,  but  it  was  hid  under  ap- 
prehensions entertained  from  what  is  called 
common  sense. 

The  magistrates,  thinned  off  every  day,  be- 
wildered and  confused  by  every  thing,  directed 
the  small  remains  of  vigilance  and  resolution 
they  were  capable  of  to  these  anointers,  and 
unfortunately  believed  they  had  discovered 
some  of  them. 

The  sentences  that  were  consequently  pass- 
ed, were  certainly  not  the  first  of  this  kind,  nor 
are  they  to  be  considered  as  phenomena  in  the 
history  of  jurisprudence ;  for  to  say  nothing 
about  the  ancients,  and  merely  to  point  to  what 
took  place  in  times  nearer  to  those  of  which 
we  treat ;  there  was  at  Geneva  in  1530,  and 
then  in  1545,  and  again  in  1574 ;  at  Casale  in 
Montferrat  in  1536,  at  Padua  in  1555,  at  Turin 
in  1599,  at  Palermo  in  1526,  and  at  Turin  again 
in  the  same  year  1630,  trials  of  persons  who 
were  condemned  and  punished  in  an  atrocious 
way ;  sometimes  an  individual,  sometimes  nu- 
merous unfortunate  people,  found  guilty  of 
having  propagated  the  plague,  with  powders, 
ointment,  and  witchcraft,  and  sometimes  alto- 
gether. 

But  this  matter,  so  called,  of  anointings,  at 
Milan,  as  it  was  that  which  made  the  greatest 
noise  abroad,  and  lasted  the  longest  time,  so 
perhaps  of  them  all  it  is  most  susceptible  of 
examination,  or  to  speak  more  exactly,  there 
is  a  better  field  for  observation,  on  account  of 
the  documents  connected  with  it,  being  more 
ample  and  circumstantial.  And  although  a 
writer  we  have  commended  recently,*  has  oc- 
cupied himself  with  it,  nevertheless,  he  having 
proposed,  not  so  much  to  relate  its  history, 
as  to  get  information  for  a  more  worthy  and 
important  undertaking,  it  has  appeared  to  us 
that  its  history  might  furnish  the  materials  of  a 
new  work.  But  it  is  not  a  thing  to  pass  over 
with  a  few  words,  and  to  go  into  it  as  extensive- 
ly as  it  deserves,  would  lead  us  too  far.  Be 
sides  which,  the  reader,  after  being  made  ac 
quainted  with  these  incidents,  will  not  be  very 
anxious  to  know  those  which  we  have  left  un- 
told. Reserving,  however,  for  another  work 
to  narrate  them,  we  shall  now  finally  return  to 
our  personages,  that  they  may  be  no  longer 
left  to  the  very  last  moment. 


*  P.  Verri,  in  the  little  work  we  have  cited. 


210 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

OKE  night,  towards  the  end  of  August,  just 
in  the  heart  of  the  pestilence,  Don  Rodrigo  re- 
turned to  his  house  in  Milan,  accompanied  by 
the  faithful  Griso,  one  of  the  three  or  lour,  who, 
of  all  his  family,  had  remained  alive.  He  had 
left  a  party  of  friends  who  were  in  the  habit  of 
meeting  to  carouse,  and  pass  away  the  melan- 
choly hours  ;  and  each  time  that  they  met  there 
were  some  new  individuals  and  some  of  the 
old  ones  wanting.  That  day,  he  had  been  one 
of  the  merriest  of  them,  and  amongst  other 
things,  he  had  made  the  company  laugh  ex- 
ceedingly at  a  kind  of  funeral  eulogium  he 
pronounced  on  Count  Attilio,  who  had  been 
carried  off  by  the  plague  two  days  before. 

On  his  way  home,  however,  he  felt  himself 
ill  at  ease,  low  spirited,  a  weakness  in  his 
limbs,  a  difficulty  of  breathing,  an  internal 
burning,  that  he  would  fain  have  attributed 
to  the  wine,  late  sitting  up,  and  the  season.  He 
said  not  a  word  during  the  walk,  and  the  first, 
when  they  had  reached  the  house,  was  to  order 
Griso  to  take  a  light  to  his  chamber.  When 
they  were  there,  Griso  observed  that  his  mas- 
ter's face  was  changed  somewhat,  inflamed, 
and  his  eyes  protruding  and  glaring ;  he  there- 
fore kept  aloof,  because  upon  such  occasions, 
every  ruffian  had  got  a  doctor's  eye,as  they  say. 
"  Nonsense,  I  am  very  well,"  said  Don  Rod- 
rigo,who  read  in  the  action  of  Griso  the  thought 
that  was  passing  in  his  mind.  "I  am  very 
well,  but  I  have  been  drinking,  and  perhaps 
have  taken  a  little  too  much.  That  white  wine 
that  I  drank !  But  with  a  good  sound  sleep  it 
will  pass  off.  I  am  exceedingly  sleepy — take 
that  light  away,  it  annoys  me." 

"  It's  nothing  but  the  white  wine,"  said  Gri- 
so, keeping  always  at  a  distance,  "but  lie 
down  directly,  sleep  will  do  you  good." 

"  Thou  art  in  the  right.  If  I  can  only  sleep ; 
as  to  the  rest  I  am  well.  At  any  rate  put  the 
bell  here,  lest  I  should  want  something  during 
the  night;  and  be  attentive,  mind — if  you 
should  hear  the  bell.  But  I  shall  want  nothing ; 
take  that  cursed  light  away,"  he  continu- 
ed, whilst  Griso  was  doing  as  he  was  ordered, 
drawing  nigh  as  little  as  he  possibly  could. — 
"  The  devil,  how  the  light  annoys  me  !" 

Griso  took  the  light,  and  having  wished  his 
master  a  good  night,  loft  the  room  in  haste, 
whilst  he  got  under  the  clothes. 

But  they  laid  on  him  like  a  mountain.  He 
kicked  them  off,  and  drew  himself  up  to  sleep, 
for  in  fact  he  was  excessively  sleepy;  but 
scarcely  had  he  closed  his  eyes,  when  he  awoke 
again  in  a  trepidation,  as  it  some  spiteful  per- 
son had  shook  him,  the  fever  was  rising  upon 
him,  and  his  agitation  was  increasing.  He 
thought  of  the  debauch  he  had  been  at,  of  the 
white  wine,  and  the  uproar  he  had  made,  and 
wished  to  lay  the  blame  upon  all  these  things ; 
but  this  idea  always  gave  way  to  another  that 
was  associated  with  all  things,  which  entered, 


as  one  may  say,  by  all  the  senses,  which  had 
found  its  way  into  every  thing  that  had  been 
spoken  of  at  their  carousal,  it  being  a  much 
easier  thing  to  banter  about  it,  than  to  exclude 
it ;  and  this  was  the  plague. 

After  a  lone  struggle,  he  finally  got  asleep, 
and  began  to  dream  the  most  obscure  and  con- 
fused things  imaginable.  Wandering  from  one 
thing  to  another,  he  at  length  seemed  to  be  in 
a  great  church,  far  inside  of  it,  in  the  midst  of 
a  crowd  of  people.  He  could  not  imagine  how 
he  had  got  there,  how  the  thought  had  got  into 
his  head  to  go  there,  especially  at  such  a  time, 
and  he  worried  himself  about  it.  He  looked 
at  the  persons  around  him,  all  their  faces  were 
wan,  as  if  they  had  been  dug  out  of  the 
grave ;  their  eyes  were  dull  and  without  ex- 
pression, their  lips  were  hanging  down  :  their 
clothes  were  all  falling  to  rags,  and  through  the 
tatters  spots  and  tumors  were  seen.  "Make 
room,  fellows,"  he  supposed  himself  to  call 
out,  looking  at  the  door  which  was  at  a  great 
distance  from  him,  and  accompanying  his  cry 
with  threatening  looks,  without  moving  how- 
ever, indeed  shnnking  into  as  small  a  compass 
as  he  could,  that  he  might  not  touch  the  dis- 
gusting objects,  that  already  pressed  him  too 
closely  on  every  side.  But  none  of  these 
senseless  figures  seemed  to  move,  nor  to  hear 
him ;  on  the  contrary  they  kept  still  closer  to 
him.  Especially  it  appeared  to  him,  that  some 
one  of  them,  with  his  elbow,  or  with  something 
else,  pushed  him  in  the  left  side,  betwixt  the 
heart  and  the  shoulder,  where  he  felt  a  painful 
puncture,  and  dreadfully  oppressive.  When  he 
twisted  himself  to  get  relief  from  the  pain,  in- 
stantly something  else  not  visible,  inflicted  a 
new  sensation  in  the  same  place.  Furious  at 
this,  he  sought  to  lay  his  hand  on  his  sword, 
when  suddenly  it  seemed  to  him,  whilst  in  the 
crowd,  that  it  had  risen  alone  his  body,  and 
that  it  was  the  pummel  which  hurt  him  in  that 
place,  putting  his  hand  there,  he  found  no 
sword,  but  his  own  touch  renewed  the  pain 
more  violent.  He  called  out,  panted,  and  tried 
to  cry  still  louder,  when  behold  all  the  people's 
faces  were  turned  in  a  particular  direction. 
Looking  there,  likewise,  he  perceived  a  pulpit, 
and,  lo !  a  convex  mass,  smooth  and  shining, 
was  seen  rising  up  from  within  it,  till  it  dis- 
tinctly became  a  bald  crown,  then  two  eyes  ap- 
peared, a  face,  and  a  long  and  white  beard ;  a 
complete  friar,  as  far  as  to  where  his  girdle 
touched  the  edge  of  the  pulpit — Father  Chris- 
topher himself! 

The  figure,  glancing  a  ouick  look  at  all  the 
auditory,  seemed,  as  Don  Rodrigo  thought,  at 
last  to  fix  his  countenance  upon  him,  raising 
at  the  same  time  his  hand,  exactly  in  the  atti- 
tude he  assumed  in  the  room  on  the  ground 
floor  of  his  palace.  Then  he  also  raised  his 
hand  in  a  rage,  and  made  an  effort  as  if  he 
would  stretch  himself  out  to  pull  down  that 
arm  thus  lifted  in  the  air ;  but  a  sound  that  was 
roaring  imperfectly  in  his  throat,  burst  forth 
into  a  violent  scream,  and  he  awoke.  He  let 
fall  the  arm  which  he  really  had  raised  up,  and 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


211 


was  for  some  time  troubled  in  the  attempt  to 
recover  his  consciousness,  and  to  open  his  eyes 
well,  for  the  full  light  of  day  annoyed  him  no 
less  than  that  of  the  candle  had  done  ;  he  re- 
cognized his  bed,  his  room,  perceived  that  the 
whole  had  been  a  dream  :  the  church,  the  peo- 
ple, the  friar,  all  had  vanished :  all  save  one 
thing,  the  pain  in  his  left  side.  Along  with  this 
he  felt  an  accelerated  and  distressing  motion 
of  the  heart ;  in  his  ears  he  heard  a  rumbling 
noise,  a  fire  was  within  him,  and  a  weight  upon 
all  his  members,  more  intolerable  than  when 
he  went  to  bed.  He  hesitated  awhile  about  ex- 
amining the  part  that  gave  him  pain,  at  last  he 
uncovered  it,  cast  a  terrified  look  at  it,  and  be- 
held a  frightful  tumor  of  a  livid  purple  color. 

The  man  perceived  that  he  was  lost.  The 
terror  of  death  took  possession  of  him,  and 
perhaps  in  a  still  stronger  degree  the  terror  of 
becoming  a  prey  to  the  monatti,  and  of  being 
taken  and  thrown  into  the  lazaretto.  Whilst 
he  was  deliberating  upon  some  mode  of  avoid- 
ing this  horrible  fate,  he  perceived  his  ideas 
were  becoming  obscure  and  confused,  and  that 
the  moment  was  drawing  nigh,  when  he  would 
only  have  sufficient  consciousness  left  to  de- 
spair. He  seized  the  bell  and  rung  it  with 
violence.  Griso  who  was  on  the  alert,  imme- 
diately appeared.  He  stopped  at  a  certain  dis- 
tance from  the  bed,  looked  attentively  at  his 
master,  and  became  certain  of  what  the  even- 
ing before  he  had  only  conjectured. 

"  Griso !"  said  Don  Rodrigo,  raising  himself 
up  in  the  bed  with  difficulty  "  thou  hast  al- 
ways been  my  confident." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"I  have  always  been  kind  tothee." 

"It  is  your  goodness." 

"I  can  trust  thee — !" 

"Oh,  the  devil!" 

"  I  am  sick,  Griso." 

"I  was  aware  of  it." 

"  If  I  get  well,  I  will  be  kinder  to  thee  than 
I  have  ever  been." 

Griso  said  not  a  word,  but  waited  to  see  in 
what  all  this  preamble  would  end. 

"I  cannot  trust  any  body  but  thee,"  Don 
Rodrigo  continued,  "  do  me  a  favor,  Griso." 

"  Command  me,"  he  replied,  answered  in 
his  usual  manner,  to  this  unwonted  language. 

"Dost  thou  know  where  the  surgeon  Chiodo 
lives?" 

"I  know  very  well." 

"  He  is  a  safe  man,  who,  if  he  is  well  paid, 
will  keep  his  patients  in  secret.  Go  and  seek 
him ;  tell  him  I  will  give  him  four,  six  crowns 
for  every  visit,  and  more,  if  he  asks  more ;  and 
that  he  must  come  here  immediately :  and  do 
the  message  well,  that  no  one  may  know  of 
it." 

"Very  well  thought  of,"  said  Griso,  "  I  will 
go  and  return." 

"  Hear,  Griso,  give  me  a  little  water  first,  I 
am  parched,  and  cannot  stand  it." 

"No, signer," said  Griso,  "  nothing  without 
consulting  the  doctor.  These  are  capricious 
complaints,  and  there  is  no  time  to  lose.  Be 


quiet,  I  will  be  here  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye 
with  Chiodo." 

Having  said  this,  he  went  out,  shutting  the 
door  after  him. 

Don  Rodrigo  having  laid  down  again,  ac- 
companied him  in  his  imagination  to  the  house 
of  Chiodo,  counted  his  steps,  and  calculated, 
the  time.  Every  now  and  then  he  turned  to 
look  at  his  left  side,  but  turned  away  his  face 
j  in  dread.  After  some  time,  he  raised  his  ears 
on  the  alert,  to  discover  whether  the  surgeon 
was  coming,  and  the  effort  suspended  partly  his 
sense  of  the  evil,  and  kept  his  thoughts  in  some 
order.  All  at  once  he  heard  a  distant  noise, 
which  seemed  to  him  not  to  proceed  from  the 
street,  but  from  the  inside  of  me  house.  He  lis- 
tened more  anxiously,  it  became  more  distinct, 
more  continuouSjtogether  with  the  sound  effect. 
A  horrible  suspicion  now  crossed  his  mind.  He 
raised  himself  in  the  bed,  and  listened  with 
still  more  attention,  and  heard  a  dull  noise  in  the 
adjoining  room,  as  of  a  weight  that  had  been 
carefully  placed  on  the  floor :  he  put  his  feet 
out  of  the  bed  to  raise  himself,  kept  his  eye  on 
the  door,  when  it  opened,  and  two  dirty  worn 
out  red  dresses,  with  a  couple  of  excommuni- 
cated faces,  two  monatti  in  fact  came  forward 
and  presented  themselves  ;  he  perceived  too  in 
part  the  visage  of  Griso,  who,  hid  behind  a 
doorstead  partly  closed,  was  playing  the  spy. 

"Ah, infamous  traitor! — away  scoundrels! 
Biondino  !  Carlotto  !  help,  I  am  assassinated," 
screamed  out  Don  Rodrigo,  and  thrusting  his 
hand  under  the  pillow  to  find  a  pistol,  grasps 
and  brings  it  out :  but  at  his  first  cry,  the  mo- 
natti flew  to  the  bed,  the  quickest  threw  him- 
self upon  him,  ere  he  could  do  any  thing, 
snatched  the  pistol  from  his  hand,  thre'w  it  at  a 
distance,  turned  him  on  his  side  and  kept  him 
down,  crying,  with  a  grin,  between  rage  and 
scorn,  "Ah,  you  rogue!  what!  against  the 
monatti !  against  the  ministers  of  the  tribu- 
nal !  against  the  men  who  do  the  work  of 
mercy!" 

"Hold  him  fast,  till  we  take  him  away," 
said  his  companion,  going  towards  the  strong 
chest.  Griso  now  entered,  and  began  to  help 
him  to  force  the  lock. 

"Scoundrel!"  howled  out  Don  Rodrigo, 
looking  at  him  from  under  the  man  who  held 
him  down,  and  disentangling  himself  from  his 
nervous  arms.  "  Let  me  kill  that  villain,"  said 
he  to  the  monatti,  "  and  then  do  with  me  what- 
ever you  like."  Then  he  began  to  call  aloud 
upon  his  other  servants,  but  all  in  vain ;  the 
abominable  Griso  had  sent  them  all  to  a  dis- 
tance, with  feigned  orders  from  his  master,  be- 
fore he  had  gone  to  the  monatti  to  propose  this 
undertaking,  and  to  divide  the  spoils  with 
them. 

"  Be  quiet,  be  quiet,"  said  the  man  who  held 
him  pinned  down  to  the  bed,  to  the  wretched 
Don  Rodrigo ;  and  then  turning  his  face  to  the 
two  who  were  plundering  the  chest,  called  out, 

do  it  like  honest  fellows  now !" 

"Thou!  thou!"  groaned  out  Don  Rodri- 
go to  Griso,  whom  he  saw  busy  in  breaking 


212 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


the  chest,  and  taking  out  money  and  other 
things  to  be  divided.  "  Thou !  after — !  Devil 
from  hell !  But  I  can  recover !  I  can  recover ! " 
Griso  did  not  utter  a  syllable ;  neither,  as  far 
as  he  could  help  it,  did  he  turn  his  head  in  the 
direction  whence  the  words  came. 

"Hold  him  fast!"  said  the  other  monatti, 
"  he  is  a  madman." 

The  miserable  wretch  in  fact  became  so. 
After  a  last  and  more  violent  effort  to  struggle 
and  call  out,  he  fell  all  at  once,  resistless  and 
stupified.  He  looked  on  however  like  one  en- 
chanted, and  now  and  then  gave  a  shake  of  the 
head,  and  sent  forth  a  groan. 

The  monatti  took  him,  one  by  the  feet  the 
other  by  the  shoulders,  and  went  and  placed 
him  on  a  hand  litter  they  had  deposited  in  the 
other  room,  then  one  of  them  returned  for  the 
booty,  and  having  lifted  up  their  miserable 
weight,  they  carried  him  off. 

Griso  remained  behind  to  select  in  haste 
whatever  he  thought  would  suit  him,  he  made 
a  bundle  of  his  spoils,  and  left  the  house.  He 
had  been  careful  enough  not  to  touch  the  mo- 
natti, not  to  let  himself  be  touched  by  them, 
but  in  his  hurry  towards  the  last,  in  looking 
what  he  could  pick  up,  he  had  lifted  up  his 
master's  clothes  near  the  bed,  and  shook  them ; 
without  thinking  of  any  thing  else,  to  see  if 
there  was  any  money  in  them.  He  was  re- 
minded of  this  the  following  day,  for  whilst  he 
was  enjoying  himself  at  a  tavern,  a  sudden 
chill  seized  him,  a  cloud  came  over  his  eyes, 
his  strength  failed  him  and  he  fell.  Abandoned 
by  his  companions,  he  fell  into  the  hands  of 
the  monatti,  who  having  pillaged  him  of  what- 
ever he  had  about  him  that  was  worth  having, 
threw  him  upon  a  car,  upon  which  he  expired 
before  he  reached  the  lazaretto,  where  his  mas- 
ter had  been  carried. 

Leaving  him  in  this  abode  of  woes,  we  must 
now  go  in  search  of  another,  whose  story 
would  never  have  been  mixed  up  with  his,  if 
he  had  not  accomplished  it  by  forced  marches ; 
indeed  it  may  be  asserted  as  most  certain,  that 
without  that  there  would  have  been  no  story 
about  either  one  or  the  other  of  them.  I  speak 
now  of  Renzo,  whom  we  left  at  the  new  fila- 
ture, under  the  name  of  Antonio  Rivolta. 

He  had  been  there  five  or  six  months,  sa- 
ving the  truth ;  after  which,  hostilities  having 
broke  out  between  the  Venetian  republic  and 
the  King  of  Spain,  and  all  apprehension  having 
ceased  of  any  interference  by  bad  officers  from 
the  Venetian  government,  Bartolo  had  made 
some  haste  to  go  and  take  him  away,  and  place 
him  about  himself  again,  because  he  had  an 
affection  for  him,  and  because  Renzo,  being 
naturally  intelligent,  and  skillful  in  his  voca- 
tion, was,  in  a  great  manufactory  useful  to  the 
factotum  ;  without  any  fear  of  his  ever  aspir- 
ing to  become  one  himself,  for  he  did  not  know 
how  to  use  a  pen.  As  this  reason  also  counted 
for  something  in  the  affair,  we  have  thought 
best  to  mention  it.  Perhaps  you  would  prefer 
an  ideal  Bartolo,  if  so,  create  one  for  yourself. 
So  the  fact  was. 


Renzo  continued  afterwards  to  work  under 
him.  More  than  once,  and  especially  after  re- 
ceiving some  of  those  blessed  letteriPfrom 
Agnes,  the  inclination  had  got  into  his  head  to 
enlist  for  a  soldier,  and  finish  all  his  troubles 
that  way,  and  opportunities  were  not  wanting, 
for  precisely  at  that  moment,  the  republic  was 
frequently  under  the  necessity  of  increasing 
its  troops.  The  temptation  had  sometimes  been 
so  much  the  stronger  for  Renzo,  as  the  inva- 
sion of  Milan  had  been  talked  of,  and  it  natu- 
rally appeared  to  him  to  be  a  very  fine  thing, 
to  return  home  in  the  character  of  a  conqueror, 
see  Lucia  again,  and  have  an  explanation  with 
her.  But  Bartolo  in  a  judicious  way  had  al- 
ways been  able  to  divert  him  from  that  reso- 
lution. 

"  If  they  have  to  go  there,"  he  would  say, 
"  they  can  go  without  thee,  and  thou  canst  go 
afterwards  at  thy  own  convenience  :  if  they 
come  back  with  their  heads  broke,  wont  it  be 
better  to  be  out  of  the  scrape  ?  There  will  be 
no  want  of  desperate  fellows  to  take  that 
course,  and  before  they  do  take  that  road — ! 
For  me  I  am  a  heretic  in  this  affair,  they 
make  a  great  noise  about  it,  but — the  state  of 
Milan  is  not  a  mouthful  to  swallow  so  easily. 
It's  Spain  they  will  have  to  do  with,  my  dear 
son ;  and  thou  knowest  what  Spain  is,  dost  ihou 
not  ?  Saint  Mark  is  strong  enough  at  home, 
but  it  will  take  something  else  for  that.  Have 
patience  :  art  thou  not  well  off  here  ?  I  know 
what  thou  wouldst  tell  me,  but  if  it  is  des- 
tined there  above  that  the  thing  is  to  take 
place,  it  will  be  more  sure  to  do  so,  if  thou 
dost  not  commit  any  follies.  Some  saint  will 
help  thee.  Trust  me  it  is  no  trade  for  thee. 
Dost  it  seem  to  thee  right  to  leave  off  winding 
silk,  just  to  go  and  kill  people  ?  What  wouldst 
thou  do  amongst  such  a  set  ?  It  requires  men 
made  on  purpose." 

At  other  times  Renzo  resolved  to  go  secret- 
ly, disguised,  and  under  a  false  name.  But 
Bartolo  also  succeeded  in  dissuading  him  from 
this  with  reasons  easily  imagined. 

The  plague  having  broke  out  in  the  Mila- 
nese territoiy,  and  exactly,  as  we  have  said, 
where  it  joins  that  of  Bergamo,  it  was  not  long 
before  it  was  felt  there,  and— don't  be  alarmed^ 
I  am  not  going  to  inflict  the  history  of  that 
likewise  upon  you  ;  he  who  wants  to  know  it, 
can  find  it,  written  by  public  authority  by  one 
Lorenzo  Ghirardelli,  a  rare  book  but  unknown, 
although  it  contains  perhaps  more  particulars 
than  all  the  other  descriptions  of  pestilences; 
upon  so  many  things  does  the  reputation  of 
books  depend  !  What  I  wished  to  say,  was, 
that  Renzo  also  took  the  plague,  and  cured 
himself;  that  is,  he  did  nothing  at  all ;  nor  was 
he  brought  to  death's  door,  for  his  good  consti- 
tution got  the  better  of  the  disease,  and  in  a 
few  days  he  was  out  of  danger.  With  the  re- 
turn of  health,  his  mind  awoke  again,  and  more 
keenly,  to  the  cares  and  anxieties  of  life,  hopes, 
desires,  remembrances,  plans ;  that  is  to  say,  he 
thought  more  than  ever  of  Lucia.  What  had 
become  of  her,  at  such  a  time,  when  to  live 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


213 


was  an  exception  from  the  common  fate  ?  And 
at  such  a  short  distance,  to  know  nothing  about 
her — and  to  remain  in  such  uncertainty,  hea- 
ven knows  how  long !  Then  again  when  this 
doubt  was  dispelled,  when  all  danger  was  over, 
and  he  should  find  out  she  was  alive,  there 
was  always  that  other  obstacle,  that  dark  affair 
of  the  vow  she  had  made.  I  will  go,  I  will  go, 
and  have  it  all  cleared  up  at  once — he  said  to 
himself,  and  this  he  determined  before  he  had 
strength  enough  to  walk  about.  If  she  only  is 
alive !  ah,  if  she  but  lives  !  I  will  find  her  out, 
and  hear  from  her  own  lips  what  sort  of  an  af- 
fair this  promise  is,  I'll  snow  her  that  it  can't 
hold,  and  I'll  take  her  away ;  her,  and  that  poor 
Agnes,  if  she  is  alive  !  she  always  wished  me 
well,  and  I  am  sure  she  does  so  still.  As  to 
arresting  me,  those  who  are  alive  have  some- 
thing else  to  think  of  now.  They  go  about  in 
safety,  even  here,  those  who  have  committed — 
Is  there  security  for  nobody  but  scoundrels  ? 
And  at  Milan,  all  agree  the  confusion  is  much 
greater,  therefore  if  I  let  such  a  favorable  op- 
portunity escape.  (The  plague  !  see  what  a 
strange  use  we  make  of  words  some  times,  that 
blessed  instinct  of  referring  and  making  every 
thing  subordinate  to  ourselves.)  I  shall  never 
have  such  another. 

How  delightful  is  hope,  my  dear  Renzo ! 
Scarce  could  he  drag  himself  about,  than  he 
went  in  search  of  Bartolo,  who  up  to  that  time 
had  been  fortunate  enough  to  escape  the 
plague,  and  kept  himself  secluded.  He  did  not 
go  into  the  house,  but  calling  out  to  him,  he 
came  to  the  window. 

"Ah!  ah!"  said  Bartolo,  "Thou  hast  got 
out  of  it,  eh !  It's  well  for  thee !" 

"  I  am  rather  weak,  as  thou  see'st,  but  as  to 
danger,  I  am  out  of  that." 

"  Faith,  I  wish  I  was  as  well  off  as  thou  art. 
Formerly  when  a  man  could  say,  '  I  am  very 
well,'  it  seemed  to  comprehend  every  thing, 
but  now  it  is  not  worth  much.  Give  me  the 
man  that  can  say,  '  I  am  better,'  that  to  be  sure 
means  a  great  deal." 

Renzo  having  said  a  few  encouraging  words 
to  his  cousin,  communicated  to  him  his  reso- 
lution. 

"  Well,  go  this  time,  and  may  heaven  bless 
thee,"  he  answered.  "  Try  to  keep  out  of  the 
hands  of  justice,  as  I  will  try  to  keep  out  of 
the  way  of  the  contagion,  and  if  God  pleases 
to  prosper  us  both,  we  shall  see  each  other 
again." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  certainly  come  back,  if  I  could 
only  come  back  with  somebody  else.  Well,  I 
must  hope." 

"  Come  back  accompanied,  if  God  pleases, 

we  will  all  work  together,  and  be  good  company 

to  each  other.     If  only  thou  finclest  me  here 

again,  and  this  devilish  pestilence  was  over ! " 

"  We  shall  see  each  other  again ;  we  shall 

meet  again,  we  shall  meet  again !" 

"  Well,  I  repeat,  God  grant  it  so." 

For  some  days,  Renzo  exercised  himself  to 

get  his  strength  back  again ;  and  scarce  did  he 

think  he  could  bear  the  journey,  than  he  pre- 


pared Tor  his  departure.  He  fastened  a  girdle 
beneath  his  clothes  containing  the  fifty  crowns, 
which  he  had  never  touched,  and  which  he  had 
never  told  any  one  about,  not  even  Bartolo ; 
took  a  little  money  that  he  had  laid  by  from 
day  to  day,  as  he  lived  very  frugally ;  put  a 
bundle  of  clothes  under  his  arm  ;  and  with  the 
recommendation  of  service  his  second  master 
had  given  him,  under  the  name  of  Antonio  Ri- 
volta,  in  his  pocket,  and  a  knife  in  the  girdle 
of  his  waist,  which  was  the  least  thing  a  decent 
man  could  wear  in  those  times,he  started,about 
the  last  of  August,  three  days  after  Don  Rod- 
rigo  had  been  carried  to  the  lazaretto.  He 
took  the  road  to  Lecco,  desirous,  before  he 
ventured  himself  to  Milan,  to  pass  by  his  own 
village,  where  he  hoped  to  find  Agnes,  and  to 
begin  by  learning  from  her  some  of  those  mat- 
ters he  was  in  such  distress  about. 

The  few  persons  who  had  recovered  from 
the  plague,  were,  in  the  midst  of  the  popula- 
tion, truly  a  privileged  class.  A  great  part  of 
the  survivors  were  languishing  and  dying,  and 
those  who  had  hitherto  escaped  the  contagion 
lived  in  continual  apprehension ;  they  went 
cautiously  about,  with  great  circumspection, 
with  measured  steps,  clouded  aspects,  and  with 
haste  and  hesitation  at  the  same  time,  for  every 
thing  they  met  might  inflict  a  mortal  wound 
on  them.  Those  on  the  other  hand,  who  had 
recovered,  feeling  almost  quite  secure,  (since 
it  was  rather  a  prodigious  than  a  rare  thing  to 
have  had  the  plague  twice,)  went  about  amidst 
the  pestilence  freely  and  boldly,  as  the  knights 
of  a  particular  period  of  the  middle  ages,  cased 
in  armor  wherever  iron  could  be  put,  and 
riding  upon  palfreys  secured  in  like  manner, 
as  far  as  it  was  possible  ;  thus  they  went  wan- 
dering about,  (hence  the  glorious  denomina- 
tion of  knights  errant,)  wherever  chance  led 
them,  amongst  a  poor  rabble  on  foot  of  burgh- 
ers and  peasants,  who  had  nothing  but  rags  on 
their  backs  to  turn  and  deaden  their  blows. — 
A  beautiful,  sage,  and  useful  occupation,  wor- 
thy of  cutting  the  first  figure  in  a  treatise  of 
political  economy. 

With  such  confidence,  tempted  however  by 
some  solicitude,  by  the  frequent  sad  specta- 
cles he  saw,  and  by  the  incessant  thought  of 
the  general  calamity,  Renzo  went  towards  his 
house,  beneath  a  fine  sky,and  through  a  charm- 
ing country,  and  meeting  after  distances  of  a 
melancholy  solitude,  some  wandering  shade 
rather  than  a  living  person,  or  dead  bodies  that 
were  carrying  to  the  ditch,  without  funeral 
honors  or  dirges.  About  midday  he  stopped 
in  a  grove,  to  eat  a  little  bread  and  a  mouthful 
of  meat  which  he  had  brought  with  him. — 
Fruit  he  had  abundantly  at  his  disposition  all 
along  the  road,  much  more  than  he  wanted  ; 
figs,  peaches,  plums,  and  apples  in  profusion. 
He  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  go  into  an  orchard, 
and  gather  them  from  the  boughs,  or  pick  up 
the  ripest  which  had  fallen  to  the  ground,  for 
the  year  had  been  extraordinarily  abundant  in 
all  kinds  of  apples,  and  scarce  any  one  attend- 
ed to  gathering  them  ;  the  grapes  were  hid  be- 


214 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


neath  a  covering  of  vine  leaves,  and  were  left 
in  the  power  of  any  one  who  chose  to  take 
them. 

Towards  vespers  he  discovered  his  own  vil- 
lage. At  the  sight  of  it,  however  he  might 
have  been  prepared,  he  felt  his  heart  begin  to 
beat.  A  multitude  of  sorrowful  recollections, 
and  painful  presentiments,  rushed  upon  him  ; 
he  seemed  to  have  in  his  ears  those  ominous 
strokes  of  the  bell,  which  had  pursued  him,  as 
it  were,  when  he  fled  the  country ;  whilst  at 
the  same  moment,  the  silence  of  death  was  ac- 
tually reigning  around.  He  experienced  a  still 
greater  agitation  when  he  reached  the  sacristy, 
and  expected  he  should  feel  still  more  so  at  the 
term  of  his  walk ;  for  the  place  where  he  had 
proposed  to  stop,  was  that  house  which  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  call  Lucia's  house.  Now, 
he  could  only  call  it  Agnes'  house,  and  the  only 
favor  that  he  asked  of  Heaven,  was  to  find  her 
there  alive  and  in  health.  There  he  intended 
to  ask  for  lodgings,  conjecturing  too  well,  that 
his  own  was  no  longer  a  fit  residence  for  any 
thing  but  rats  and  pole  cats. 

To  reach  it,  then,  without  passing  through 
the  village,  he  took  a  path  that  led  behind,  the 
same  which  he  had  once  trod  in  such  excellent 
company,  that  remarkable  night  when  they 
intended  to  surprise  the  curate.  About  midday, 
Renzo's  vineyard  laid  on  one  side  of  the  road, 
and  his  house  on  the  other,  so  that  in  passing 
he  could  enter  both  of  them  a  moment  to  see 
how  his  own  affairs  stood. 

As  he  was  walking,  he  looked  before  him, 
anxious  and  even  apprehensive  about  seeing 
any  one,  and  after  a  lew  paces,  he  perceived  a 
man  in  his  shirt,  seated  on  the  ground,  leaning 
with  his  back  against  a  hedge  of  jessamines, 
in  the  attitude  of  an  idiot ;  this  circumstance, 
added  to  some  resemblance  in  the  face,called  up 
to  his  recollection  that  poor  stupid  blockhead 
Gervaso.who  accompanied  him  as  a  second  wit- 
ness on  that  unlucky  disposition.  But  on  draw- 
ing nigher,  he  perceived  that  instead  of  him  it 
was  that  sharp  fellow  Tonio,  who  had  managed 
the  affair.  The  pestilence,  which  had  taken 
away  from  him  both  his  vigor  of  mind  and 
body,  had  brought  out  in  his  features  and  in  all 
his  movements,  a  slightly  concealed  resem- 
blance that  he  bore  to  his  silly  brother. 

"  Oh,  Tonio,"  said  Renzo  to  him,  stopping, 
"is  it  thou?" 

Tonio  raised  his  eyes  up  to  his  face,  with- 
out moving  his  head. 

"  Tonio,  dost  thou  not  know  me  ?" 

"  Whose  turn  it  is,  it  is  their  turn ! "  answer- 
ed Tonio,  remaining  with  his  mouth  open. 

"  Oh,  thou  hast  it  then  ?  poor  Tonio,  and 
thou  dost  not  know  me  again  ?" 

'« Whose  turn  it  is,  it  is  their  turn !"  he  re- 
plied, with  a  silly  smile.  Renzo  seeing  no- 
thing was  to  be  learnt  from  him  went  on  still 
more  sorrowful.  When  something  black,  turn- 
ing a  corner,  advanced  towards  him,  which  he 
recognized  to  be  Don  Abbondio.  He  was 
walking  slowly.and  carrying  his  stick  as  though 
he  partly  relied  upon  it  to  carry  him  :  as  he 


drew  near,  it  was  evident  by  his  squalid  and 
meagre  visage,  and  emaciated  figure,  that  he 
had  had  to  encounter  the  storm.  He  looked 
at  Renzo,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  it  \vas  so  and 
was  not  so ;  he  perceived  something  foreign  in 
his  dress,  but  it  was  precisely  the  dress  of  a 
Bergamascan. 

It  is  him  beyond  a  doubt ! — said  he  to  him- 
self, and  raised  his  hands  to  heaven  with  a 
movement  of  discontented  surprise,  holding  up, 
in  his  right  hand,  his  stick  in  the  air,  his  poor 
thin  arms  hardly  appearing  in  the  sleeves 
which  they  once  filled  so  well.  Renzo  has- 
tened to  meet  him,  and  make  him  a  bow,  for 
although  they  had  parted  in  a  way  you  have  not 
forgot,  still  he  was  his  curate. 

"  Are  you  here  ?"  Don  Abbondio  exclaimed. 

"I  am  here,  as  your  worship  sees.  Does 
your  worship  know  any  thing  of  Lucia?" 

"  What  should  I  know  about  her  ?  nothing  is 
known  of  her.  She  is  at  Milan,  that  is  if  she 
is  yet  in  this  world.  But  you — " 

"  And  Agnes,  is  she  alive  ?" 

"  For  ought  I  know;  but  how  should  I  know  ? 
she  is  not  here.  But — " 

"  Where  is  she  ?" 

"  She  is  gone  to  stay  in  Valsassina,  with  her 
relations  there,  at  Pasture,  you  know  who  very 
well.  They  say  the  plague  is  not  as  bad  there 
as  it  is  here.  But  you,  1  say — " 

"Well,  I  am  quite  sorry  for  that.  And  fa- 
ther Christopher — ?" 

"  He  went  away  some  time  ago.    But — " 

"I  knew  that,  they  wrote  me  word.  I  ask 
if  ever  he  came  back  to  these  parts." 

"  Pugh  !  We've  heard  nothing  more  about 
him.  But  you — " 

"  I  am  very  sorry  for  that  too." 

"  But  you,  I  say,  what  are  you  come  here 
for,  in  these  parts,  for  the  love  of  Heaven  ? — 
Don't  you  know  that  such  a  trifle  as  that  out- 
lawry. 

"  I  don't  mind  that.  They  have  something 
else  to  think  about.  I  wanted  to  come  here 
once  more  to  look  after  my  affairs.  So  it  is  not 
known  exactly —  ?" 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do  or  see  here  ? — 
there's  nobody  left,  there's  nothing  at  all  left. 
And  I  repeat,  that  with  the  trifling  matter  of 
that  outlawry  hanging  over  you,  to  come  here, 
right  into  the  village,  into  the  wolf's  mouth, 
is  there  any  sense  in  that?  Do  as  an  old 
man  tells  you  who  has  more  than  yourself,  and 
who  gives  you  advice  for  the  love  he  bears 
you.  Fasten  your  shoes  well,  and  before  any 
one  sees  you,  return  to  whence  you  came  from ; 
and  if  any  one  has  seen  you,  make  the  greater 
hurry  in  getting  back.  Is  this  an  air  ior  you 
to  breathe,  do  you  think,  this  ?  Don't  you 
know  that  they  have  been  here  to  look  after 
you,  and  that  they  have  ferreted  every  where 
and  turned  things  topsy  turvy  ? 

"  I  know  it  too  well,  the  villains  !" 

"  But  then— " 

"  But  if  I  tell  you  that  I  don't  think  of  stay- 
ing. And  he,  is  he  alive  yet  ?  is  he  here  in  the 
neighborhood?" 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


213 


"  I  tell  you  there  is  nobody  here,  I  tell  you, 
you  must  not  think  of  any  tiling  that  is  here,  I 
tell  you  that — " 
"  I  ask  if  he  is  here,  he  ?" 
"Oh,  blessed  Heaven?    Be  prudent.   Is  it 
possible  that  you  have  still  got  all  that  fire  up, 
after  so  many  things  have  happened  ?" 
"Is  he  here,  or  is  he  not  here  ?'' 
"  He  is  not  here,  I  tell  you.  But  the  plague 
is  here  my  son,  the  plague !  Who  is  there  goes 
about  so,  in  such  times  as  these  ?" 

"  If  there  was  nothing  but  the  plague  in  this 
world — I  speak  for  myself.  I  have  had  it,  and 
am  free  now." 

"But  then,  but  then,  are  not  these  warn- 
ings ?  When  a  man  has  escaped  a  danger  of 
this  kind,  it  seems  to  me  he  ought  to  thank 
Heaven,  and — " 

"I  do  thank  it  sincerely." 

"  And  should  not  run  himself  into  others,  I 
say.  Do  as  I  do." 

"  Your  worship  has  had  it  too,  Signor  cu- 
rate, if  I  am  not  mistaken." 

"  If  I  have  had  it !  A  most  infamous  and 
perfidious  disorder  it  has  been  to  me.  It's  a 
miracle  that  I  am  alive.  I  need  say  no  more 
than  that  it  has  left  me  in  such  horrible  trim  as 
you  see  me.  And  now,  I  was  just  wanting  a 
little  quiet,  to  put  me  in  some  tone  :  I  was  be- 
ginning to  get  a  little  better — and — what  in  the 
name  of  Heaven  are  you  come  here  for  ?  Turn 
back — " 

"  Your  reverence  is  so  full  of  this  turning 
back.  Why  should  I  turn  back  when  I  have 
so  many  reasons  for  staying  ?  What  am  I  come 
here  for,  what  am  I  come  here  for  ?  I  am  come 
home  to  my  own  house." 

"  Your  house — •"" 

"Tell  me,  are  many  of  the  people  dead 
here!" 

"  Ob,  dear ;  oh,  dear !"  exclaimed  Don  Ab- 
bondio;  and  beginning  with  Perpetua,  he  enu- 
merated a  great  many  individuals,  and  entire 
families.  Renzo  was  too  well  prepared  for  news 
of  this  kind,  but  when  he  heard  the  names  of 
so  many  acquaintances,  friends,  and  connec- 
tions, (fie  had  lost  his  parents  some  years  be- 
fore) he  was  very  much  touched,  and  hanging 
down  his  head,  he  exclaimed  every  now  and 
then,  poor  fellow !  poor  woman !  poor  peo- 
ple!" 

"  You  see  how  it  is !"  continued  Don  Ab- 
bondio,  "  and  it  is  not  over  yet.  If  those  who 
are  left  are  not  prudent  for  once,  and  dont  get 
rid  of  all  their  notions,  there  is  nothing  but  the 
end  of  the  world  that  will  bring  them  to  rea- 
son." 

Dont  doubt  it ;  indeed  I  have  no  intention  of 
remaining  here." 

"  Ah !  Heaven  be  praised,  it  only  has  brought 
you  to  your  senses.  I  enter  into  your  idea,  you 
have  made  up  your  mind  to  go  back." 

"  Your  worship  need  not  trouble  yourself 
about  that." 

"  Why,  you  are  certainly  not  going  to  pro- 
pose any  thing  worse  to  me,  are  you  ? 

"Don't  trouble  yourself  about  it  I  say ;  that's 


my  business  :  I  am  more  than  seven  years  old 
at  any  rate.  I  hope  your  worship  will  not  tell 
any  one  that  you  have  seen  me.  Your  worship 
is  a  pastor,  I  am  one  of  your  flock,  and  you 
wont  betray  me." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Don  Abbondio,  sighing 
in  an  angiy  manner. 

"  I  understand.  You  want  to  ruin  yourself, 
and  to  ruin  me  too.  You  are  not  satisfied  with 
what  you  have  gone  through  yourself,  and  you 
are  not  satisfied  with  what  I  have  gone  through. 
I  understand,  I  understand."  And,  continuing 
to  murmur  in  his  teeth  these  last  words,  he 
went  on  his  way. 

Renzo  remained  there  sad  and  discontented, 
thinking  where  he  should  go  to  lodge.  In  the 
fatal  list  that  Don  Abbondio  had  given  him  of 
those  who  had  died,  there  was  a  family  of 
country  people  all  carried  off  except  a  young 
man,  nearly  of  Renzo's  age,  and  his  compan- 
ion from  infancy :  the  house  was  out  of  the 
village,  a  very  short  distance.  There  he  de- 
termined to  go  to  ask  for  quarters. 

He  had  approached  near  to  his  own  vine- 
yard, sufficiently  to  form  some  idea  of  the  real 
state  in  which  it  was.  A  young  shoot,  the 
branch  of  a  tree  which  he  had  left,  did  not  ap- 
pear above  the  wall,  and  if  any  thing  did  ap- 
pear, it  had  all  grown  during  his  absence.  He 
went  to  the  open  edge  of  it,  (for  there  was  not 
a  vestige  left  of  rails)  and  cast  a  look  around. 
Poor  vineyard  !  For  two  winters  running  the 
country  people  hat!  gone  to  provide  themselves 
with  wood  there,  "  at  the  poor  young  fellows 
place,"  as  they  said.  Vines,  mulberry  trees, 
fruit  trees  of  every  kind,  all  had  been  violently 
pulled  up,  or  cut  off  by  the  roots.  Some  ap- 
pearances however  of  the  ancient  cultivation 
were  to  be  seen ;  young  cuttings  in  interrupted 
lines,  but  which  marked  the  traces  of  the  dis- 
ordered rows  :  here  and  there  were  stocks  and 
shoots  of  mulberries,  figs,  peaches,  cherries, 
and  plums,  but  all  choked  and  suffocated  in  the 
midst  of  a  new,  various  and  thick  growth, 
sprung  up  and  growing  without  the  aid  of  man. 
An  immense  crowd  of  nettles,  ferns,  cockles, 
dog-grass,  docks,  wild  oats,  sorrel,  and  all  sort 
of  wild  plants  of  that  kind,  which  country  peo- 
ple in  all  parts  of  the  world,  have  formed  one 
extensive  class  of,  called  bad  weeds.  It  was  a 
confusion  of  stems,  all  trying  to  over-reach 
one  another,  or  to  get  the  better  of  one  another 
creeping  on  the  ground — a  set  of  things  trying 
to  oust  each  other  of  their  places  in  every  pos- 
sible way  :  a  mixture  of  leaves,  flowers,  fruits, 
of  a  hundred  colors,  a  hundred  forms,  a  hundred 
sizes  ;  ears  of  grain,  clusters  of  flowers,  with 
small  heads,  white,  red,  yellow,  blue.  Amidst 
the  maze  some  appeared  more  distinctly,  and 
with  more  attraction,  yet  not  of  more  value,  at 
least  the  greater  part  of  them.  The  Turkish 
grape  was  above  them  all,  with  its  spreading 
ruddy  branches  and  its  splendid  leaves  or 
a  greenish  brown,  sometimes  edged  with  pur- 
ple at  the  end ;  its  curved  branches  too,  formed 
of  berries  open  below,  above  them  small  pur- 
ple flowers,  then  green  ones,  and  at  the  top 


216 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


•whitish  ones.  The  bearded  yew  with  its  broad 
woolly  leaves  on  the  ground  and  its  stem  in 
the  air,  furnished  with  long  scattered  spikes, 
stellated  with  bright  yellow  flowers :  thistles 
with  their  hairy  stems  and  branches,  with  tufts 
of  white  or  purple  flowers  crowning  them,  ex- 
cept when  they  burst  open,  and  their  light  and 
silvery  down  was  borne  away  by  the  air.  Here 
a  quantity  of  birdweed,  creeping  and  inter- 
lacing with  the  new  shoots  of  a  mulberry  plant, 
had  covered  them  over  with  its  pendulous 
leaves,  pointing  to  the  ground,  and  suspending 
from  the  top  ot  them  its  white  and  tender  little 
bells :  there  a  briony  with  its  vermilion  ber- 
ries, had  twisted  itself  around  the  young  shoots 
of  a  vine,  the  which,  in  vain  seeking  for  a 
stronger  support,  had  in  turn  clung  to  the 
briony  with  its  tendrils,  and  mixing  their  weak 
stems  and  their  leaves,  so  little  dissimilar,  mu- 
tually drew  themselves  downwards,  as  it  fre- 
quently occurs  to  the  weak  to  rely  upon  each 
other  for  support.  The  bramble  was  every 
where ;  it  went  from  one  plant  to  another,  crept 
out  and  down  again,  curled  its  branches  or  ex- 
tended them,  as  necessity  required,  and  advan- 
cing beyond  the  limit  of  the  vineyard  itself, 
seemed  to  be  there  for  the  purpose  of  disput- 
ing the  entrance  with  the  proprietor  himself. 

But  he  had  no  wish  to  enter  into  such  a  vine- 
yard, and  perhaps  did  not  remain  as  long  to 
look  at  it,  as  we  have  taken  to  make  this  little 
sketch.  He  moved  away  from  it;  at  a  short 
distance  was  his  house,  he  passed  through  the 
garden,  trampling  on  hundreds  of  the  new  com- 
ers, with  which  it  was  peopled,  and  covered  just 
like  the  vineyard.  He  entered  one  of  the  two 
small  rooms  on  the  ground  floor ;  at  the  noise 
of  his  footsteps,  at  his  presence,  a  confused 
rushing  and  tumultuous  hurrying  away  of  rats, 
a  plunging  into  the  rubbish  and  dirt  with  which 
the  floor  was  covered,  and  which  had  once 
been  the  bed  of  the  landzknechts,  was  heard. 
He  raised  his  eyes  around  to  the  crumbled, 
dirty  and  smoked  walls ;  he  looked  at  the  ceil- 
ing which  was  one  mass  of  cobwebs.  There 
was  nothing  else  to  be  seen.  He  moved  away 
from  here  also,  putting  his  hands  in  his  hair, 
passed  tlirough  the  garden,  and  regained  the 
path  he  had  trod  a  few  moments  before.  After  a 
tew  paces,  he  took  another  path  to  the  left, 
which  led  to  the  fields,  and  without  seeing  or 
hearing  a  living  soul,  he  approached  the  house 
where  ne  intended  to  seek  hospitality.  It  was 
now  evening.  His  friend  was  seated  at  the 
door,  upon  a  wooden  bench,  with  his  arms 
crossed  on  his  breast,  his  eves  directed  to 
Heaven,  like  a  man  stupified  by  his  misfor- 
tunes, and  made  half  savage  by  solitude.  Hear- 
ing a  footstep,  he  turned  to  see  who  was  com- 
ing, and  mistaking  him  in  the  twilight,  between 
the  boughs  and  the  leaves,  he  cried  aloud, 
standing  erect,  and  raising  both  his  hands,  "  Is 
there  no  one  but  myself?  Have  I  not  done 
enough  yesterday  ?  Leave  me  to  myself  a  little, 
even  this  will  be  an  act  of  mercy." 

Renzo,  not  knowing  what  this  meant,  an- 
swered him,  calling  him  by  his  name. 


"  Renzo  ?"  said  he,  at  the  very  same  mo- 
ment. 

"  The  very  same,"  said  Renzo,  and  they 
hastened  to  meet  each  other. 

"  Is  it  indeed  thyself?"  said  his  friend  when 
they  got  together. 

"  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  to  see  thee !  Who 
would  have  thought  of  it?  I  thought  thou 
wert  paolin  of  the  dead,  who  is  always  com- 
ing plaguing  me  to  help  to  bury  people.  Dost 
thou  know  that  I  am  left  alone  ?  quite  alone ! 
just  like  a  hermit !" 

"1  know  it  too  well,"  said  Renzo.  And 
thus  exchanging  and  mingling  together  wel- 
comes, questions,  and  answers,  they  entered 
the  house  together.  There,  without  interrupt- 
ing their  conversation,  his  friend  stirring  about, 
to  do  some  little  honor  to  Renzo,  unprovided 
as  he  was  at  such  a  time.  He  put  some  water 
on  the  fire,  and  began  to  make  some  polenta, 
but  gave  the  stick  to  Renzo,  to  stir  it  with,  and 
went  away,  saying  "  I  am  quite  alone,  I  have 
nobody  to  help  me,  but — " 

He  returned  with  a  little  pail  of  milk,  some 
salt  meat,  a  couple  of  cream  cheeses,  some  figs 
and  peaches,  and  every  thing  being  ready,  he 
turned  the  polenta  out  upon  the  dish,  and  they 
sat  down  to  the  table,  thanking  each  other  by 
turns,  one  for  the  visit,  the  other  for  the  recep- 
tion given  him.  And  after  an  absence  of  near 
two  years,  they  soon  found  out  they  were  more 
attached  to  each  other  than  they  had  ever  been, 
when  they  saw  each  other  every  day :  for,  as  the 
manuscript  says,  things  of  that  nature  had  hap- 
pened to  both  of  them  which  made  them  sen- 
sible what  a  balm  to  the  mind  benevolence  is, 
as  well  that  which  is  felt,  as  that  which  is  ex- 
perienced in  another. 

Certainly,  nobody  could  supply  to  Renzo 
the  place  of  Agnes,  not  only  on  account  of  that 
old  and  especial  affection  he  bore  her,  but  also 
because  amongst  the  many  things  he  wanted 
information  about,  there  was  one  of  which  she 
alone  possessed  the  key.  He  remained  a  mo- 
ment hesitating  between  two  plans,  one  to  go 
and  seek  her,  since  she  was  at  so  short  a  dis- 
tance ;  but  considering  that  she  would  know 
nothing  of  Lucia's  health,  he  adhered  to  his 
first  intention  to  ascertain  that  point,  to  make 
the  great  attempt,  and  then  convey  the  news 
to  her  mother.  From  his  friend,  however,  he 
learned  a  great  many  things  he  was  ignorant  of, 
and  got  several  matters  cleared  up  of  which 
he  had  imperfect  information,  respecting  Lu- 
cia's affairs,  and  the  persecutions  he  had  under- 
gone ;  and  how  Don  Rodrigo  had  left  the  coun- 
try with  his  tail  between  his  legs,  and  had  been 
no  more  seen  in  those  parts,  together  with  the 
whole  mistification  of  that  affair.  He  learnt 
also,  (and  it  was  a  piece  of  information  of  no 
small  importance  to  him,)  how  to  pronounce 
correctly  the  name  of  Don  Ferrante,  which 
Agnes  had  communicated  to  him  by  her  amanu- 
ensis, but  heaven  knows  how  it  had  been  writ- 
ten, and  the  Bergamasc  interpreter  had  read  it 
to  him  in  such  a  way,  had  made  such  a  strange 
word  of  it,  that  if  he  had  gone  to  Milan  to  get 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


217 


information  of  such  a  family,  he  would  proba- 
bly not  have  found  any  one  able  to  guess  who 
he  was  talking  about.  And  yet  it  was  the  only 
thread  he  had  to  lead  him  in  his  search  after 
Lucia.  As  to  justice,  he  felt  sufficiently  as- 
sured that  the  danger  was  too  remote  to  give 
himself  any  trouble  about.  The  Podesta  was 
dead  of  the  plague,  and  no  one  could  tell  when 
another  would  be  sent  in  his  place ;  the  birri 
for  the  greater  part,  were  gone  too,  and  those 
who  were  left  nad  something  else  to  do  than 
to  trouble  themselves  about  old  matters. 

He  related  his  own  adventures  to  his  friend, 
who  told  him  in  return  a  hundred  stories,  of 
the  passage  of  the  army,  of  the  plague,  of  the 
anointers,  of  the  prodigies  that  had  taken  place. 
'•'  These  are  all  frightful  things,"  said  the  young 
man  accompanying  Renzo  to  a  small  chamber 
which  the  contagion  had  emptied  of  its  inhabi- 
tants, "  things  one  never  could  have  thought 
of  seeing,  things  that  would  prevent  one's  ever 
being  cheerful  again,  yet  it  relieves  one  to  tell 
them  to  a  friend." 

By  daylight  both  of  them  were  down  stairs, 
Renzo  ready  for  his  journey,  with  his  girdle 
hid  under  his  jacket,  and  his  knife  in  his  waist, 
and  as  to  the  rest  bright  and  active.  He  left 
his  bundle  in  the  care  of  his  friend.  "  If  every 
thing  turns  out  well,"  he  said,  "  if  I  find  her 
alive,  if — enough — then  I  shall  come  back 
here  ;  I  will  go  to  Pasture,  to  give  the  happy 
news  to  the  good  Agnes,  and  then,  and  then. — 
But  if,  unfortunately — unfortunately  it  is  not 
God's  pleasure — then,  I  know  not  what  I  shall 
do,  I  know  not  where  I  shall  go,  certainly  I 
shall  never  return  here."  Saying  this,  he  stood 
erect  on  the  path  that  led  to  the  fields,  and 
raising  his  head,  with  a  look  of  mingled  ten- 
derness and  grief,  he  looked  at  the  sunrise  of 
his  native  place,  which  he  had  not  seen  for  so 
long  a  period.  His  friend  comforted  him  with 
hopes,  made  him  take  some  provisions  with 
him  to  last  the  day,  accompanied  him  a  part  of 
the  way,  and  let  him  go  with  repeated  augu- 
ries of  good  luck. 

Renzo  began  his  walk  moderately,  desirous 
only  of  getting  near  to  Milan  that  day,  that  he 
might  enter  it  early  the  next  morning,  and  be- 
gin his  search.  He  met  with  no  accident,  nor 
did  he  meet  with  any  thing  that  particularly 
attracted  his  attention  beyond  the  usual  melan- 
choly and  wretched  spectacle  he  was  accustom- 
ed to.  As  he  had  done  the  preceding  day,  he 
stopped  at  the  proper  time,  in  a  grove  to  refresh 
himself,  and  to  rest  himself.  Passing  by  Mon- 
za,  before  an  open  shop  where  bread  was  ex- 
posed for  sale,  he  asked  for  a  couple  of  loaves, 
that  in  any  event,  he  might  not  be  unprovided. 
The  man  who  kept  the  shop,  desiring  him  not 
to  come  in,  put  out  a  stick  with  a  small  dish 
at  the  end  of  it,  containing  water  and  vinegar, 
telling  him  to  let  the  price  of  the  bread  drop 
into  it,  as  was  done  :  then  with  a  pair  of  tongs, 
he  handed  him  one  after  the  other,  the  two 
loaves,  one  of  which  Renzo  put  in  each  pocket. 

Towards  evening  he  reached  Greco,  without 
knowing  the  name  of  the  place,  but  with  some 
28 


recollection  of  the  places  that  he  had  preserved 
since  his  last  journey,  and  some  calculation  of 
the  distance  he  had  made  from  Monza,he  judg- 
ed that  he  had  got  nigh  enough  to  the  city :  he 
therefore  left  the  high  road,  in  order  to  find 
some  cascinotto  in  the  fields  where  he  could 
pass  the  night,  not  being  disposed  to  get  him- 
self into  any  trouble  with  inns  at  all.  He  found 
something  better  than  he  looked  for ;  seeing  a 
gap  in  a  nedge  that  went  round  a  barn  yard, 
he  entered  it  at  once.  No  one  was  there.  On 
one  side  he  saw  an  extensive  loft  with  a  quan- 
tity of  hay  in  it,  and  a  wooden  ladder  leaning 
against  it.  Again  he  looked  around  him,  then 
mounted  the  ladder  at  all  hazards,  prepared 
himself  for  passing  the  night  there,  and  soon 
dropped  asleep,to  awaken  only  in  the  morning. 
Having  awoke,  he  crept  gently  to  the  edge  of 
his  capacious  bed,  put  his  nead  out,  and  seeing 
no  one,  got  down  as  he  got  up,  went  out  as  he 
entered,  took  the  byways,  taking  the  dome  of 
the  cathedral  for  his  polar  star,  and, after  a  short 
walk,  came  to  the  walls  of  Milan,  betwixt  the 
oriental  gate,  and  Porta  Nuova,  and  very  near 
to  this  last. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

IN  regard  to  entering  the  city,  Renzo  had 
heard  in  general  that  the  order  was  very  severe 
to  let  no  one  in  without  a  bill  of  health,  but 
that  in  reality  it  was  very  easy  to  get  in,  by 
any  one  who  knew  how  to  manage  a  little,  and 
to  take  the  proper  time.  So  it  was,  and  with- 
out discussing  the  general  causes,  why,  at  such 
a  time,  every  order  was  indifferently  execu- 
ted, and  the  particular  causes  which  rendered 
their  rigorous  execution  so  difficult,  Milan  was 
brought  to  such  a  situation  as  not  to  be  able  to 
perceive  the  necessity  of  its  safety  being  look- 
ed after,  or  by  whom ;  so  that  whoever  should 
enter  would  seem  more  indifferent  about  his 
own  health,  than  dangerous  to  that  of  the  citi- 
zens. 

With  this  information,  Renzo's  plan  was  to 
try  to  enter  at  the  first  gate  he  should  come  to, 
and  if  he  found  any  difficulty,  to  go  round  un- 
til he  found  another  more  easy  of  access. — 
Heaven  knows  how  many  gates  he  thought 
Milan  must  necessarily  have. 

Having  reached  the  walls,  he  stopped  to  look 
about  him,  like  a  person,  who  not  knowing 
which  is  the  best  course  to  take,  seems  to  be 
expecting  some  indication  or  other  from  every 
thing.  But,  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  he  dis- 
covered nothing  but  two  pieces  of  road  fork- 
ing off  in  front  of  him,  and  the  wall :  no  where 
was  there  any  sign  of  a  li ving  person,  if  it  was 
not,  that  from  some  places  upon  the  terrace,  a 
dense  column  of  dark  and  heavy  cloud  was 
seen  rising  up,  and  spreading,  and  resolving 
itself  into  globular  bodies,  which  afterwards 
dissipated  themselves  into  the  immovable  and 
grey  atmosphere.  It  was  the  clothes,  the  beds, 


218 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


and  other  infected  movables  which  they  were 
burning,  and  such  dreadful  bonfires  they  were 
continually  making,  not  there  alone,  but  all 
along  the  walls. 

The  weather  was  close,  the  air  heavy,  the 
sky  was  covered  by  a  thick  cloud  or  universal 
fog,  quite  inert,  which  seemed  to  hide  the  sun, 
without  promising  rain;  the  country  around  was 
partly  uncultivated,  and  quite  burnt  up,  the 
verdure  had  all  faded,  and  not  a  drop  of  dew  re- 
freshed the  withered  and  drooping  leaves.  In 
addition  to  these,  the  solitude  and  silence  that 
reigned  amidst  such  a  mass  of  habitations, 
brought  a  new  consternation  upon  the  inquie- 
tude of  Renzo,  and  made  his  thoughts  still 
more  sad. 

Having  reflected  a  moment,  he  took  the  right 
hand  road  at  hazard,  going,  without  knowing 
it,  towards  Porta  Nuova,  the  which,  although 
near  to  it,  he  could  not  perceive,  on  account 
of  a  bulwark  behind  which  it  was  then  hid. — 
After  a  few  paces,  the  sound  of  small  bells  be- 
gan to  reach  his  ears,  at  repeated  intervals, 
and  then  the  voice  of  a  man.  He  went  on, 
turned  the  angle  of  the  bastion,  and  the  first 
thing  he  saw,  on  the  level  before  the  gate,  was 
a  wooden  sentry  box,  at  the  door  of  which, 
was  a  guard  with  a  wearied  and  negligent 
manner,  leaning  on  his  musket.  Behind  it 
was  a  palisade,  and  further  down  the  gate  it- 
self, that  is  to  say,  two  wings  of  the  wall,  with 
a  shed  over  the  space,  to  protect  the  wood- 
work :  the  gate  was  wide  open,  as  well  as  the 
wicket  of  the  pales.  But  right  before  this  last, 
was  a  melancholy  sort  of  obstacle,  a  hand  lit- 
ter, placed  on  the  ground,  and  two  monatti 
placing  an  unfortunate  creature  on  it  to  take 
him  away.  This  was  the  head  toll-gatherer, 
in  whom  a  short  time  before  the  plague  had 
broken  out.  Renzo  stopped  where  he  was, 
waiting  till  they  had  done,  and  they  having 

fone,  and  no  one  appearing  to  close  the  wicket, 
e  thought  his  chance  was  now  come,  and  has- 
tened on;  but  the  guard  putting  on  a  fierce  look, 
called  out  to  him  "  hollo !"  He  stopped,  and 
winking  at  the  fellow,  took  out  half  a  ducat, 
and  showed  it  to  him.  Either  he  had  had  the 
plague,  or  that  fearing  it  less  than  he  liked  half 
ducats,  he  made  signs  to  Renzo  to  throw  it  to 
him.and  seeing  that  it  was  immediately  thrown 
at  his  feet,  whispered,  "  push  on  quick." — 
Renzo  did  not  wait  for  this  to  be  repeated,  he 
passed  through  the  wicket,  and  the  gate,  and 
advanced  without  any  one  seeing  him  or  look- 
ing after  him,  except  that  when  he  had  gone 
about  forty  paces,  he  heard  another  "  hollo  !" 
which  a  toll-gatherer  sent  after  him.  Instead 
of  turning  about,  he  quickened  his  pace,  and 
pretended  not  to  hear  him.  "Hollo!"  cried 
put  the  toll-gatherer  again,  but  in  a  tone  that 
indicated  more  anger  than  determination  to  be 
obeyed,  and  the  man  perceiving  no  attention 
was  paid  to  him,  shrugged  up  his  shoulders  and 
went  in  again,  like  a  man  who  preferred  keep- 
ing himself  at  a  distance  from  passengers,  to 
questioning  them  too  closely  about  their  af- 
fairs. 


The  street  that  led  from  the  gate,  ran  then, 
I  as  at  present,  straight  on  to  the  canal  called 
Naviglio  :  on  each  side  were  hedges  or  garden 
walls,  churches  and  convents,  and  very  few 
houses :  at  the  end  of  this  street,  and  in  the 
midst  of  the  next  which  continued  on  to  the 
canal,  there  was  a  cross  standing  up,  called  the 
cross  of  St.  Eusebio.  As  far  as  Renzo  could 
see  before  him,  nothing  was  to  be  perceived 
but  that  cross.  Having  reached  a  cross  street 
which  divided  the  one  he  was  in  about  the  cen- 
tre, and  looking  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  he 
perceived  to  the  right,  in  the  one  which  is  call- 
ed Santa  Teresa,  a  citizen  coming  towards 
him. — Here,  at  last,  is  a  Christian  ! — said  he  to 
himself,  and  immediately  turned  into  the  street, 
proposing  to  speak  to  him.  This  man  also 
looked  at  him,  and  kept  examining  from  a  dis- 
tance, with  a  suspicious  eye,  the  stranger  who 
was  approaching ;  and  more  particularly  when 
he  saw,  that  instead  of  going  on  his  own  way, 
he  was  coming  right  up  to  him.  Renzo,when  he 
was  at  a  short  distance,  took  off  his  hat,  like  a 
respectful  mountaineer,  as  he  was,  and  holding 
it  with  his  left  hand,  he  put  his  right  into  the 
empty  crown,  and  went  directly  towards  the 
unknown.  But  he,  rolling  his  eyes,  stept  back 
a  pace,  and  lifting  a  knotty  stick  he  had,  with 
a  sharp  iron  at  the  end  of  it  like  a  spike,  and 
thrusting  it  towards  Renzo's  face,  cried  out, 
be  off!  be  off!  be  off! 

"  Oh,  oh  !"  cried  out  the  youth  likewise,  put- 
ting his  hat  on,  and  feeling  disposed,  as  he  said 
afterwards,  for  any  thing  but  a  dispute  at  such 
a  moment,  turned  his  back  upon  so  uncourte- 
ous  a  person,  and  went  on  his  way,  or  to  speak 
more  correctly,  the  street  into  which  he  had 
now  got. 

The  citizen  likewise  went  on  his,  all  in  a 
rage,  and  looking  behind  his  shoulders  every 
now  and  then.  As  soon  as  he  got  home,  he 
related  how  an  anointer  had  come  up  to  him, 
with  a  humble  and  gentle  manner,  and  the 
countenance  of  an  infamous  impostor,  with  his 
box  of  ointment,  or  his  paper  containing  pow- 
der, (he  was  not  quite  certain  which  of  the 
two)  in  his  hand,  in  the  crown  of  his  hat,  to 
throw  it  at  him,  if  he  had  not  contrived  to  pre- 
vent him.  "  If  he  had  come  one  step  nearer 
to  me,  I  would  have  run  him  right  through  be- 
fore he  would  have  had  time  to  do  any  thing 
to  me,  the  scoundrel.  The  misfortune  was 
that  we  were  in  such  a  lone  place  ;  if  we  had 
been  in  the  heart  of  the  city,  I  would  have 
called  for  some  aid,  and  we  would  have  given 
it  to  him.  Certainly  we  should  have  found 
all  that  villanous  filthy  stuff  in  his  hat.  But, 
there,  all  alone,  I  was  obliged  to  be  satisfied 
with  saving  myself,  without  running  the  risk 
of  bringing  some  misfortune  on  me,  for  a  little 
powder  is  soon  thrown,  and  these  fellows  are 
very  dexterous  at  doing  it,  and  then  they  have 
the  devil  to  help  them  besides.  He  is  now  go- 
ing all  about  Milan,  and  who  knows  what  de- 
struction he  will  create."  As  long  as  he  lived, 
which  was  a  good  many  years,  every  time 
that  he  talked  of  anointers,  he  repeated  his  own 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


219 


case,  and  added,  "  those  who  maintain  there 
was  no  such  thing,  don't  let  them  come  and 
tell  me  so,  for  it  is  necessary  to  have  seen  such 
things." 

Renzo,  far  from  imagining  what  a  difficulty 
he  had  escaped  out  of,  and  being  more  moved 
by  anger  than  fear,  thought,  as  he  was  walking, 
of  the  strange  reception  he  had  got,  and  at 
length  made  some  slight  conjecture  of  the  real 
opinion  the  citizen  had  formed  of  him ;  but 
the  thing  appeared  so  extravagant,  that  he 
came  to  the  conclusion,  the  man  must  have 
been  half  crazy. — It's  a  bad  beginning  however 
— thought  he, — my  evil  stars  are  over  me  here 
in  Milan.  I  find  no  difficulty  in  getting  into 
the  place,  but  as  soon  as  I  am  in,  I  find  all 
sorts  of  vexations  waiting  for  me.  Well — 
with  God's  help — if  I  find — if  I  succeed  in  find- 
ing— all  this  will  be  nothing  at  all. 

Having  reached  the  foot  of  the  bridge,  he 
turned  to  the  left,  without  hesitation,  into  the 
street  called  Strada  San  Marco,  as  being  one 
which  seemed  to  lead  into  the  interior  of  the 
city.  And  proceeding  on,  he  looked  about  to 
see  if  he  could  perceive  some  human  creature, 
but  nothing  could  he  see  save  a  disformed  car- 
cass in  the  ditch  which  runs  between  the  few 
houses  there,  (for  then  they  were  very  few) 
and  the  street,  for  some  distance.  Having 
passed  the  ditch,  he  heard  some  one  calling  out, 
as  il  to  him,  and  turning  to  whence  the  sound 
caiqe  from,  he  perceived  a  short  way  off,  at 
the  balcony  of  a  small  house  standing  by  it- 
self, a  poor  woman  with  a  group  of  children 
around  her,  who  kept  calling  to  him,  and  beck- 
oning with  her" hand  for  him  to  approach.  He 
went,  and  when  he  was  near,  "  Oh,  young 
man,"  said  the  woman,  "  for  the  love  of  your 
own  dead,  do  me  the  charity  to  go  and  inform 
the  commissary  that  we  have  been  forgotten 
here.  They  have  fastened  up  the  house  as  a 
suspected  one,  because  my  poor  husband  is 
dead,  they  have  nailed  the  door  up,  as  you  see, 
and  since  yesterday  morning  no  one  has  brought 
us  any  thing  to  eat.  For  so  many  hours  as  I 
have  been  nere,  I  have  not  been  able  to  see 
one  Christian  who  would  do  this  act  of  charity 
for  me,  and  these  poor  innocents  are  dying  of 
hunger." 

"  Of  hunger !"  exclaimed  Renzo,  and  put- 
ting his  hands  to  his  pockets;  and  taking  the 
two  loaves  out,  said,  "here,  here,  let  some- 
thing down  from  the  window  to  take  them." 

"God  reward  you,  stop  a  moment,"  said  the 
woman,  and  went  to  IOOK  for  a  basket  and  a 
cord  to  drop  it  down  to  him  with,  which  she 
did.  Renzo  remembered  at  this  instant  the  two 
loaves  which  he  had  formerly  found  at  the 
cross,  at  his  entrance,  and  thought, — this  is  a 
restitution,  and  is  better  perhaps  than  if  I  had 
found  the  owner  of  them  himself,  for  this  is 
truly  an  act  of  mercy. 

"  As  to  the  commissary  you  speak  of,  my 

food  woman,  he  said,  putting  the  loaves  into  the 
asket,  I  can't  help  you  in  that,  for,  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  am  a  stranger,  and  I  am  not  at  all  ac- 
quainted with  the  town.  But  if  I  meet  any  hu- 


mane person  who  can  help  you,  and  can  get  an 
opportunity  of  speaking  to  him,  I  will  tell  him." 

The  woman  entreated  him  to  do  so,  and  told 
him  the  name  of  the  street,  that  he  might  give 
them  directions. 

"  And  you,"  replied  Renzo,  "  I  believe  you 
could  do  me  a  service,  a  real  piece  of  charity, 
without  inconveniencing  yourself.  Can  you 
tell  me  how  to  find  a  gentleman's  house,  one 
of  the  great  people  here  of  Milan,  the  family 

"I  know  there  is  such  a  house,"  said  the 
woman,  "  but  I  do  not  know  where  it  is.  If 
you  go  in  this  direction  you  will  find  some  one 
or  other  who  will  show  you,  and  remember 
also  fo  tell  him  of  us." 

"Dont  doubt  it,"  said  Renzo,  and  went  on. 

At  every  step  he  heard  a  noise  increase,  and 
approach,  which  he  had  first  been  aware  of 
when  he  stopped  to  talk  to  the  woman ;  a 
noise  of  wrheels  and  horses,  with  a  sound  of 
bells,  and  every  now  and  then  a  cracking  of 
whips,  and  shouting.  He  looked  before,  but 
saw  nothing.  Having  reached  the  end  of  that 
crooked  street,  and  got  in  front  of  St.  Mark's 
Square,  the  thing  that  first  arrested  his  atten- 
tion was  two  posts  set  up,  with  a  cord  and 
pulleys  ;  he  saw  directly,  (for  it  was  a  fami- 
liar sight  in  those  days)  the  abominable  ma- 
chine of  torture.  It  was  erected  in  that  place, 
and  not  only  in  that,  but  in  all  the  squares  and 
most  spacious  streets,  so  that  the  deputies  of 
every  quarter,  being  furnished  with  arbitrary 
authority,  might  apply  this  instrument  to  any 
one  who  appeared  deserving  of  punishment, 
to  sequestered  people  who  hail  left  their  houses, 
or  officials  who  refused  to  execute  their  orders, 
or  to  any  persons  whatever ;  it  was  one  of  those 
immoderate  and  inefficacious  remedies  of  the 
times,  and  especially  of  that  moment,  which 
were  made  such  profuse  use  of. 

Whilst  Renzo  was  looking  at  it,  conjectur- 
ing why  it  was  placed  there,  the  noise  drew 
nigh,  and  round  tne  corner  of  the  church  a  man 
appeared  who  rang  a  small  bell,  he  was  an  ap- 
paritor ;  behind  him  two  horses  stretching  out 
their  necks,  and  straining  their  limbs,  were  ad- 
vancing with  difficulty,  and  dragging  a  car  full 
of  dead  bodies,  after  this  came  another,  and 
then  another,  and  then  another,  with  monatti 
at  the  horses  sides,  urging  them  on  with  blows 
and  oaths.  The  bodies  were  naked  for  the 
greater  part,  some  badly  wrapped  up  in  dirty 
rags,  heaped  up,  and  folded  together  like  a 
knot  of  serpents  which  slowly  disengage  them- 
selves with  the  warmth  of  spring :  for  at  every 
stop,  at  every  shock,  those  melancholy  heaps 
were  observed  to  tremble  and  separate  in  a  dis- 
gusting manner ,  heads  were  protruded  down- 
wards, virgin  tresses  thrown  the  wrong  way, 
arms  were  liberated  and  knocking  against  the 
wheels,  revealing  to  the  horror  struck  eye  how 
so  sad  a  funeral  spectacle  could  become  still 
more  wretched  and  offensive. 

The  youth  stopped  at  the  corner  of  the 
square,  near  the  barrier  of  the  canal,  and  prayed 
meanwhile  for  the  unknown  dead.  A  dreadful 


220 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


thought  shot  through  his  mind ;  perhaps  there, 
there  with  the  rest,  there  beneath — oh,  Lord 
God !  let  it  not  be  true !  suffer  me  not  to  think 
of  it! 

The  funeral  train  disappeared,  and  he  too 
moved,  crossing  the  square,  following  the  street 
on  the  left  along  the  canal,  without  any  other 
reason  for  doing  so,  except  that  the  cars  had 
gone  the  opposite  way.  Having  gone  the  short 
distance  betwixt  the  flank  of  the  church  and 
the  canal,  he  saw  on  his  right  the  Marcellino 
bridge,  he  crossed  it,  and  so  by  that  narrow 
pass  got  into  the  Borgo  Nuovo.  Whilst  he  was 
looking  ahead,  always  with  a  view  to  discover 
some  one  of  whom  he  might  make  some  in- 
quiries, he  saw  at  the  other  end  of  the  street  a 
priest  in  his  doublet,  standing  with  a  stick  in 
his  hand  near  a  door  which  was  ajar,  his  head 
inclining  downwards,  and  his  ear  at  the  open 
space  ;  soon  afterwards  he  saw  the  priest  raise 
his  hand  in  the  act  of  giving  a  benediction. 
He  concluded,  what  was  the  fact,  that  he  had 
been  confessing  some  one,  and  said  to  him- 
self,— this  is  my  man.  If  a  priest  exercising 
the  functions  of  a  priest  has  not  got  a  little 
charity,  a  little  affability  and  kindness,  I  must 
say  there  is  none  to  be'found  in  the  world. 

In  the  meantime  the  priest,  having  left  the 
door,  advanced  towards  Renzo,  walking  very 
carefully,  in  the  middle  of  the  street.  Renzo 
when  he  was  within  four  or  five  paces  of  him, 
took  his  hat  off,  and  intimated  that  he  wished 
to  speak  to  him,  stopping  at  the  same  time,  in 
such  a  way  as  to  show  him  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  act  indiscreetly  by  coming  too  near  him.  He 
stopped  likewise  as  though  he  was  willing 
to  listen,  putting  his  stick,  however,  to  the 
ground  before  him,  as  if  it  was  to  serve  as  a 
bulwark  for  him. 

Renzo  made  his  inquiries,  which  the  priest 
answered,  not  only  telling  him  the  name  of  the 
street  where  the  house  was  situated,  but  giving 
him  also,  as  he  saw  the  poor  young  fellow  stood 
in  need  of  them,  some  directions,  describing 
to  him  by  ever  so  many  rights  and  lefts,  crosses 
and  churches,  the  other  six  or  eight  streets  he 
had  to  pass  before  he  got  there. 

"  God  keep  you  well,  in  these  times,  and  al- 
ways," said  Renzo ;  and  as  the  priest  was  leav- 
ing him,  "  there  is  another  act  of  charity,"  he 
added ;  and  then  communicated  to  him  the  fact 
of  the  poor  woman  who  had  been  forgotten. 
The  worthy  priest  thanked  him  for  having  fur- 
nished him  with  an  occasion  for  sending  such 
necessary  succors,  and,  saying  he  would  inform 
the  proper  authority,  went  on. 

Ren/,o,  having  made  his  bow,  went  also  on 
his  way,  repeating  to  himself  the  directions 
he  had  received,  that  he  might  be  obliged  as 
little  as  possible  to  ask  any  more  questions.  It 
would  be  difficult  for  any  one  to  imagine  what 
a  painful  operation  this  was  to  him,  not  simply 
on  account  of  the  intricacy  of  the  aflair,  but 
of  a  new  agitation  that  had  sprung  up  in  his 
mind.  The  very  name  of  the  street,  and  the 
course  which  had  been  described  to  him  to  get 
there,  threw  bis  whole  mind  into  confusion.  It 


was  the  information  he  had  wished  and  had 
sought,  without  which  he  could  do  nothing ; 
nor  had  he  been  told  any  thing  which  could 
induce  him  to  entertain  any  evil  omens,  or 
even  a  suspicion  of  misfortune.  But  what  was 
the  cause  ?  It  was  the  more  distant  idea  of  a 
period  at  hand,  when  a  great  doubt  would  be 
resolved,  when  he  might  hear  it  said, — she  is 
alive, — or  hear  it  said, — she  is  dead.  The  feel- 
ing had  become  so  strong  with  him,  that  at  that 
very  moment  he  would  have  preferred  to  have 
remained  altogether  in  the  dark  about  every- 
thing, and  to  be  at  the  very  beginning  of  his 
journey,  when  he  was  just  touching  the  very 
term  of  it.  He  however  rallied  himself— if— 
said  he,  I  begin  to  act  like  a  child  now,  what 
will  it  all  come  to  ?  Thus  somewhat  reassured, 
he  pursued  his  way,  advancing  into  the  city. 

What  a  city !  and  what  a  moment  to  think 
of  its  condition  the  preceding  year,  during  the 
famine ! 

Renzo  had  precisely  to  pass  by  one  of  the 
quarters  of  the  city  which  had  been  most  despoi- 
led and  desolated :  the  cross  streets  which  were 
called  the  Carrobbio  of  Porta  Nuova,  (there 
was  a  cross  then  at  the  head  of  the  Corso,  and 
in  front  of  it,  near  the  place  where  now  San 
Francisco  di  Paola  stands,  an  old  church  called 
St.  Anastasia.)  In  that  quarter  such  had  been 
the  rage  of  the  contagion,  and  the  infection 
from  the  dead  bodies,  that  the  few  persons  who 
had  survived,  had  been  obliged  to  evacuate  it : 
so  that  while  the  eye  of  the  passenger  was 
struck  by  the  appearance  of  solitude  and  aban- 
donment, more  than  one  sense  was  too  distres- 
singly offended  by  the  relics  of  the  recent 
habitations.  Renzo  quickened  his  steps,  en- 
couraging himself  with  the  thought  that  the 
house  he  was  seeking  could  not  be  near  this 
quarter,  and  hoping,  that  ere  he  should  arrive 
taere,  he  should  find  the  scene,  at  least  in  a 
great  measure  changed :  and  in  fact,  at  no 
great  distance  he  came  to  what  might  be  called 
a  city  of  the  living,  but  still  what  a  city  !  and 
what  living !  All  the  street  doors,  from  suspi- 
cion and  terror,  shut  up,  except  those  which 
were  wide  open  because  they  were  uninhabited 
or  had  been  invaded :  others  nailed  up  and 
sealed  without,  on  account  of  persons  dead  or 
sick  within  of  the  plague  :  some  were  marked 
with  the  figure  of  a  cross  made  with  coal,  as  a 
sign  to  the  monatti,  that  some  dead  bodies  were 
there  to  be  removed :  things  were  trusted  to 
chance  more  than  system,  depending  upon 
whether  a  commissary  of  the  tribunal  of  health 
or  any  other  official  had  gone  to  this  or  to  that 
place,  whether  he  had  executed  his  orders,  or 
wanted  to  extort  something.  Rags,  purulent 
bandages,  infectious  bed  clothes,  garments,  or 
sheets  were  lying  every  where,  as  they  had 
been  thrown  out  of  the  windows,  sometimes 
dead  bodies,  or  those  of  persons  who  had  fallen 
exhausted  in  the  street,  and  left  there  till  a  car 
should  pass  by  and  take  them,  or  corpses  which 
had  slipped  from  the  cars  themselves,  or  which 
had  been  pitched  from  the  windows :  so  much 
had  the  duration  and  rage  of  the  disorder  ren- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


221 


dered  men  savage,and  weaned  them  from  every 
pious  care,  and  social  respect !  The  bustle  of 
the  shops,  the  noise  of  carriages,  the  cries  of 
sellers,  the  talking  of  passengers  having  every 
where  ceased,  it  was  now  an  extremely  rare 
thing  that  that  silence  of  death  should  be  in- 
terrupted by  any  thing  but  the  rumbling  of  the 
funeral  cars,  the  waihngs  of  the  sick,  the  com- 
plaints of  the  infected,  the  bowlings  of  the 
frantic,  and  the  vociferations  of  the  monatti. 
At  the  dawn,  at  midday,  and  at  evening,  a  bell 
from  the  dome  of  the  cathedral  gave  notice  to 
recite  certain  prayers  that  had  been  directed  by 
the  archbishop :  the  bells  of  the  other  churches 
responded  to  the  stroke,  and  at  that  hour  the 
people  drew  to  the  windows  of  their  houses 
to  pray  together :  there  a  whispering  of  voices 
and  of  groans  might  be  heard,  uttering  forth  a 
wretchedness  mixed  up,  nevertheless,  with 
some  comfort. 

Two  thirds  of  the  citizens  being  at  this  time 
perhaps  dead,  and  a  great  portion  of  the  re- 
mainder being  in  a  feeble  and  languishing  state, 
and  the  concourse  of  people  to  the  city  from 
without  the  walls,  being  reduced  almost  to 
nothing,  it  was  difficult,  in  a  long  circuit,  to 
meet  by  chance,  any  one  in  whose  person  some- 
thing extraordinary  was  not  to  be  observed, 
and  sufficient  of  itself  to  announce  a  fatal  change 
in  things.  Men  of  the  first  distinction,  were  seen 
without  cloaks,  a  most  essential  part,  at  that 
period,  of  polite  dress ;  priests  without  their 
cassocks,  friars  without  their  cowls ;  every  sort 
of  dress  in  fact  had  been  laid  aside,  the  skirts 
of  which  could  come  in  contact  with  any  thing, 
or  give  (what  was  more  dreaded  than  any 
thing)  facility  to  the  anointers;  and  besides 
going  about  girded  up  and  as  tight  as  possible, 
every  one  was  negligent  and  slovenly  in  his 
person :  those  who  wore  beards  permitted  them 
to  grow  inordinately  long,  and  those  who  were 
accustomed  to  shave  permitted  them  to  grow  : 
neither  did  they  take  any  care  of  their  hair,  let- 
ting it  grow  at  random,  not  only  on  account  of 
the  indifference  which  grows  out  of  a  long  con- 
tinued consternation,  but  because  the  barbers 
had  become  suspected,  from  the  moment  that 
one  of  them,  Giangiacomo  Mora,  had  been  ar- 
rested and  condemned,  as  a  great  anointer.  A 
name  that,  for  a  long  time  afterwards,  preserv- 
ed an  infamous  celeority  in  the  city,  whilst  in 
truth  it  merited  a  more  extensive  and  perpe- 
tual praise  for  goodness. 

The  greater  part  held  in  one  hand  a  club, 
and  some  a  pistol,  as  a  menacing  warning  to 
whoever  wanted  to  approach  too  near,  and  in 
the  other  an  odorous  pastil,  or  a  metallic  or 
wooden  ball  pierced  with  holes,  and  containing 
sponges  dipped  in  medicated  acids,  putting 
them  constantly  to  their  noses,  or  keeping  them 
there  always.  Some  carried,  suspended  from 
their  necks,  a  vial  containing  quick  silver, 
persuaded  that  it  possessed  the  virtue  of  ab- 
sorbing pestilential  effluvia,  and  taking  care  to 
renew  it  from  time  to  time.  The  gentlemen 
not  only  went  about  without  their  usual  attend- 
ants, but  were  seen  with  a  basket  on  their  arms 


going  to  provide  themselves  with  the  necessa- 
ries of  life.  Friends,  when  indeed  two  living 
ones  met  in  the  streets,  saluted  each  other  from 
a  distance,  with  silent  and  hasty  motions. — 
Every  one,  in  walking,  had  enough  to  do  to 
get  out  of  the  way  of  the  disgusting  and  deadly 
rubbish  spread  on  the  ground,  which  some- 
times entirely  encumbered  it.  All  sought  to 
keep  the  middle  of  the  street,  afraid  of  some 
filth,  or  something  more  fatally  heavy  that 
might  be  thrown  out  of  the  window,  afraid  too 
of  the  poisonous  powders  that  were  said  to  be 
frequently  thrown  from  them  upon  the  passen- 
gers, and  of  the  walls,  lest  they  might  be  anoint- 
ed. Thus  ignorance,  secure  and  unprofitably 
cautious,  now  added  misery  to  misery,  and  sub- 
stituted false  terrors  for  the  salutary  and  reason- 
able precautions  it  had  taken  in  the  beginning. 

Such  was  the  least  deformed,  and  least  dis- 
tressing spectacle  that  was  exhibited  by  those 
who  were  well  and  at  ease ;  for  after  so  many 
images  of  misery,  and  reflecting  upon  that  still 
more  distressing  picture  we  have  yet  to  de- 
scribe, we  will  not  stop  now  to  speak  of  the 
miserable  and  loathsome  objects  who  dragged 
themselves  about,  or  who  were  lying  in  the 
streets,  beggars — children  and  women.  They 
were  such,  that  the  spectator  might  find  a  des- 
perate comfort  in  what  would  appear  to  poste- 
rity as  the  consummation  of  misfortune,  in  the 
reflection  of  how  small  a  number  the  living 
were  reduced  to.1 

In  the  midst  of  this  desolation  Renzo  had 
finished  a  great  part  of  his  course,  when  at 
some  distance  from  a  street  into  which  he  had 
to  turn,  he  heard  a  confused  and  various  noise, 
amidst  which  he  distinguished  the  wonted  hor- 
rible ringing. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  street,  which  was 
somewhat  broad,  he  saw  in  the  centre  of  it  four 
cars  standing  still ;  and  as  in  a  corn  market  peo- 
ple are  seen  going  and  coming,  loading  and 
throwing  off  sacks,  such  was  the  press  in  this 
place.  Monatti  running  into  the  nouses,  mo- 
natti coming  out  of  them,  with  a  load  on  their 
backs,  and  putting  it  on  one  or  the  other  of 
the  cars :  some  with  red  dresses  on,  others 
without  that  distinction,  many  with  a  still  more 
odious  one,  plumes  and  caps  of  various  colors, 
worn  by  those  wretches,  as  tokens  of  festivity, 
in  the  midst  of  so  much  public  mourning. — 
Now  and  then  a  lugubrious  voice  was  heard 
from  a  window,  "  here,  monatti  !"  and  with  a 
still  more  horrible  tone,  a  sharp  voice  would 
be  heard  issuing  from  that  fearful  confusion, 
"  by  and  by."  Or  else  complaints  from  those 
near,  urging  them  to  make  haste,  to  which  the 
monatti  answered  by  imprecations. 

Having  entered  the  street,  Renzo  quickened 
his  pace,  endeavoring  not  to  look  at  these  in- 
cumbrances,  more  than  was  necessary  to  avoid 
them,  when  his  wandering  eyes  were  arrest- 
ed upon  an  object  of  singular  interest,  exciting 
a  compassion  in  him,  which  wrapt  up  his  whole 
mind  in  contemplation  of  the  spectacle  ;  so  that 
he  stopped  almost  without  thinking  of  doing 


222 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


A  lady  came  from  the  threshhold  of  one  of 
the  houses  towards  the  convoy,  whose  aspect 
announced  advanced  youth,  but  which  had  not 
yet  passed  away  ;  the  beauty  which  she  pos- 
sessed was  obscured,  but  not  obliterated,  by 
much  distress  and  mortal  langor ;  that  sort  of 
majestic,  yet  at  the  same  time  soft  beauty, 
which  is  so  conspicuous  in  the  Lombard  blood. 
She  walked  painfully  but  did  not  stagger,  her 
eyes  did  not  shed  tears,  but  bore  marks  of 
having  abundantly  done  so.  There  was  in  her 
grief  something  inexpressibly  quiet  and  deep, 
which  indicated  a  soul  all  imbued  and  filled 
with  it.  But  it  was  not  only  her  own  appear- 
ance, which  amongst  so  much  misery,  marked 
her  especially  for  commiseration,  and  awaken- 
ed in  ner  favor,  a  feeling  now  deadened  and 
worn  out  in  all  hearts :  she  bore  in  her  arms 
a  young  girl  of  about  nine  years  old,  dead;  but 
dressed,  and  laid  out,  with  her  hair  divided  in 
front,  in  a  white  frock  of  the  greatest  purity, 
as  if  her  own  hands  had  adorned  her  for  a  feast 
promised  some  time  ago,  as  a  reward  for  her 
goodness.  She  held  her  erect,  seated  upon 
one  of  her  arms,  with  her  breast  upon  the 
lady's  breast,  and  she  might  have  thought  to 
have  been  alive,  if  it  were  not  that  her  young 
white  hand  hung  inanimately  and  heavily  on 
one  side,  like  wax  work,  and  if  her  head  had 
not  laid  upon  the  shoulder  of  her  mother  in 
an  attitude  of  abandonment  heavier  than  that 
of  sleep.  Of  her  mother!  for  if  the  resem- 
blance between  those  two  countenances  had 
not  proclaimed  it,  it  could  not  but  be  announ- 
ced oy  the  distress  which  filled  one  of  them. 

And  now  a  coarse  monatti  drew  near  to  the 
lady,  and  made  signs  to  relieve  her  from  her 
load  ;  but  still  with  a  kind  of  unusual  respect, 
and  involuntarily  hesitation.  But  she,  draw- 
ing back  somewhat,  in  an  attitude,  however, 
showing  neither  scorn  nor  disdain,  "  no  !"  said 
she,  "  do  not  touch  her  now,  I  must  lay  her 
upon  that  car  myself:  take  this."  Saying  this, 
she  opened  one  of  her  hands,  showed  a  purse 
and  let  it  fall  into  that  which  the  monatti  held 
out.  She  then  continued,  "  promise  me  not  to 
take  a  thread  from  her,  nor  to  permit  others  to 
attempt  it,  and  to  put  her  in  the  ground  just 
as  she  is." 

The  monatti  carried  his  hand  to  his  breast, 
then  with  an  obsequious  kind  of  zeal,  produ- 
ced more  by  the  new  sentiment  which  had 
subdued  him,  than  the  unexpected  gift,  he  bu- 
sied himself  with  making  room  on  the  car  for 
the  little  corpse.  The  lady,  having  kissed  her 
forehead,  placed  her  there  as  upon  a  bed,  laid 
her  straight,  spread  over  her  a  white  sheet,  and 
said  these  last  words,  "  adieu,  Cecilia!  rest  in 
peace !  This  evening  we  shall  see  each  other 
again,  never  to  separate  again.  Meantime 
pray  for  us,  and  I  will  pray  for  thee,  and  for 
the  others."  Then  turning  again  to  the  mo- 
natti, "you,"  she  said,  "when  you  pass  by 
again  at  vespers,  will  come  up  and  take  me 
too,  and  not  me  alone." 

Having  said  this,  she  re-entered  the  house, 
and  an  instant  after  appeared  at  the  window, 


holding  in  her  arms  a  still  younger  darling, 
alive,  but  with  the  marks  of  death  on  its  face. 
She  staid  a  moment  in  contemplation  as  it  were 
of  the  unworthy  obsequies  of  the  first,  until  the 
car  moved,  and  whilst  it  remained  in  sight,  and 
then  she  disappeared.  And  what  now  re- 
mained for  her  to  do,  but  to  lay  the  only  one 
which  remained  to  her  on  the  bed,  place  her- 
self by  her  side,  and  die  with  her?  just  as  the 
stately  blossom  upon  its  stem,  falls  with  its 
floweret  not  yet  escaped  from  the  bud,  when 
the  scythe  passes  which  levels  all  the  plants  of 
the  meadow. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  exclaimed  Renzo,  "receive 
her  prayers  !  take  her  to  thyself,  her  and  her 
little  babe  ;  they  have  suffered  enough !  they 
have  suffered  enough !" 

Recovered  somewhat  from  his  emotions,  and 
whilst  he  endeavored  to  recollect  his  course, 
whether  at  the  first  turn  he  had  to  go  to  the 
right  or  to  the  left,  he  heard  another  and  a  dif- 
ferent kind  of  noise  approaching,  a  confused 
sound  of  imperious  cries,  of  feeble  lamenta- 
tions, of  continued  wailings,  of  female  sobs, 
and  children  prattling. 

He  went  on,  with  the  accustomed  sad  and 
gloomy  expectation  in  his  heart.  Arrived  at 
the  cross  street,  he  perceived  on  one  hand  a 
confused  crowd  approaching,  and  stopped  till 
it  had  passed.  It  was  a  tram  of  sick  persons 
going  to  the  lazaretto ;  some  driven  by  force, 
offering  a  vain  resistance,  vainly  exclaiming 
that  they  would  prefer  to  die  on  their  own  beds, 
and  sending  back  impotent  imprecations  to  the 
oaths  and  commands  of  the  monatti  who  were 
conductingthem.  Others  went  in  silence,  with- 
out grief  as  it  appeared,  and  without  hope,  as 
if  they  were  senseless  :  women  with  their  in- 
fants on  their  necks  :  children  frightened  by  the 
cries,  by  the  orders,  by  the  company,  more 
than  by  the  confused  idea  of  death,  and  loudly 
imploring  their  mothers  to  take  them  in  their 
faithful  arms,  to  their  own  homes.  Ah !  and 
perhaps  the  mother,  whom  they  supposed  they 
had  left  asleep  on  the  bed,  had  thrown  herself 
there.struck  down  by  the  disease.and  senseless, 
to  be  taken  by  a  car  to  the  lazaretto,  or  to  the 
ditch,  if  the  car  arrived  later.  Perhaps,  oh 
misery,  worthy  of  still  more  bitter  tears  !  the 
mother  occupied  altogether  with  her  own  suf- 
ferings, was  forgetful  of  every  thing,  even  of 
her  children,  and  had  but  one  thought  left,  to 
die  in  peace.  Still,  amidst  so  much  confusion, 
there  were  yet  some  examples  of  constancy 
and  compassion :  parents,  brothers,  sons,  con- 
sorts, who  sustained  those  who  were  dear  to 
them,  and  who  accompanied  them  with  words 
of  comfort ;  nor  yet  adults  alone,  young  boys, 
and  even  young  girls,  who  escorted  their 
younger  brothers,  and  with  the  wisdom  and 
discretion  of  a  more  mature  age,  encouraged 
them  to  be  obedient,  and  assured  them  that 
they  were  going  to  a  place  where  others  would 
take  care  of  them  ana  cure  them. 

In  the  midst  of  all  the  sadness  and  the  com- 
passion which  these  spectacles  touched  him 
with,  a  more  powerful  solicitude  agitated  more 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


225 


nearly  and  kept  in  suspense  our  traveler. — 
The  house  could  not  be  far  off,  and  who  could 
tell  if  amongst  all  those  people.  But  the  crowd 
having  passed,  and  the  doubt  having  ceased, 
he  turned  to  a  inonatti  who  was  coining  be- 
hind, and  asked  him  about  the  street  and  the 
house  where  Don  Ferrante  lived.  "  Find  them 
out  yourself,  bumpkin,"  was  the  answer  that 
he  got.  He  made  no  reply,  but  seeing  a  few 
paces  off,  a  commissary  who  brought  up  the 
rear  of  the  convoy,  and  had  somewhat  of  a 
Christian  look,  he  put  the  same  question  to  him. 
The  man,  pointing  with  a  stick  to  the  quarter 
whence  he  came,  said  "  the  first  street  to  the 
right,  the  last  gentleman's  house  on  the  left." 

With  a  new  and  still  stronger  beating  at  his 
heart,  the  youth  dragged  himself  there.  He 
is  in  the  street,  he  soon  perceives  the  house 
amongst  the  more  humble  and  less  commodi- 
ous ones,  he  approaches  the  door  which  is  shut, 
puts  his  hand  to  the  knocker,  holds  it  suspend- 
ed, as  if  his  hand  was  about  drawing  a  lot  upon 
which  his  life  or  death  depended.  At  length 
he  raised  it,  and  gave  it  a  resolute  knock. 

After  a  short  moment  a  window  was  care- 
fully opened,  and  a  woman  put  her  head  part- 
ly out,  and  looked  to  the  door  with  a  dark  face 
that  seemed  to  say,  monatti,  I  suppose  ?  rob- 
bers ?  commissaries  ?  anointers  ?  devils  ? 

"  Signora,"  said  Renzo,  looking  up,  with  an 
unsteady  voice  "  is  there  a  young  country  wo- 
man here  at  service  called  Lucia?" 

"  She  is  no  longer  here,  go  your  ways,"  an- 
swered the  woman,  in  the  act  of  shutting  the 
window. 

"  A  moment,  for  charity's  sake  !  She  is  no 
longer  here  ?  Where  is  she  ? 

"  At  the  lazaretto,"  and  again  she  began  to 
shut  it. 

"  But  one  moment,  for  the  love  of  Heaven  ! 
With  the  plague .'" 

"  To  be  sure.  Is  that  a  new  thing,  eh  ?  go 
about  your  business." 

"  Stay,  tell  me  !  Has  she  been  sick  a  long 
time  ?  How  long  is  it —  ?" 

The  window  now  was  shut  in  good  earnest. 

"  Signora !  signora !  one  word,  for  charity's 
sake !  for  the  sake  of  your  dead  friends.  I 
don't  want  to  ask  you  any  thing  about  your 
own  affairs,  Signora !"  but  it  was  like  talking 
to  the  wall. 

Afflicted  at  the  news,  and  irritated  at  the 
treatment,  Renzo  seized  the  knocker  again, 
and  leaning  against  the  door,  was  pulling  and 
twisting  it  in  his  hand,  then  raised  it  in  a  des- 
perate sort  of  way,  and  then  hesitated  awhile. 
In  this  agitation  he  looked  round  to  see  if  he 
could  espy  some  neighbor,  from  whom  per- 
haps he  could  get.  some  clear  information,  some 
direction,  some  light  or  other.  But  the  first, 
the  only  person  he  perceived,  was  another  wo- 
man, perhaps  about  twenty  paces  off,  who, 
with  a  countenance  expressive  of  terror,hatred, 
impatience,  and  malice,  eyes  that  seemed  to 
be  fixed  on  him,  and  still  looking  at  a  greater 
distance,  her  mouth  open  as  if  she  was  going 
to  scream,  but  still  holding  her  breath,  raising 


two  skinny  arms,  stretching  out  and  drawing 
back  her  wrinkled  and  hooked  fingers,  as  if  she 
was  pulling  something  to  herself,  she  gave 
manifest  sfgns  of  wanting  to  call  for  help,  and 
of  a  design  to  prevent  somebody  from  perceiv- 
ing it.  When  her  eyes  met  his,  she  started  as 
if  surprised,  and  put  on  a  still  more  furious 
look. 

"Why,  what  the  deuce — I"  Renzo  began, 
raising  his  hands  likewise  to  the  woman,  but 
she  having  lost  the  opportunity  of  having  him 
caught  without  his  being  aware  of  it,  let  go  the 
cry  that  she  had  restrained  until  now,  "  an 
anointer  I  give  it  to  him  !  give  it  to  him  !  an 
anointer  I"  "  Who  ?  I  Lyou  lying  old  witch,hold 
your  tongue,"  cried  Renzo,  and  ran  towards 
the  place  where  she  was,  to  intimidate  her. — 
But  he  soon  perceived  be  had  better  attend  to 
his  own  affairs.  At  the  woman's  screams  peo- 
ple ran  from  all  sides,  not  such  a  crowd  to  be 
sure  as  in  a  similar  case,  would  have  got  to- 
gether three  months  before,  but  quite  more 
than  was  necessary  to  drive  one  man  away. — 
At  the  same  moment  the  window  was  opened 
again,  and  the  first  woman  who  had  acted  so 
uncourteously,  showed  herself  at  full  length, 
and  screamed  out  also  "  catch  him !  catch  him ! 
no  doubt  he  is  one  of  those  wicked  fellows, 
that  goes  about  anointing  honest  people's 
doors." 

Renzo  determined  instantly  that  it  was  bet- 
ter to  get  clear  of  these  people,  rather  than  to 
stop  and  justify  himself;  and  casting  his  eye 
round  to  see  in  what  direction  the  fewest  peo- 
ple were,  he  took  the  road  that  seemed  the  best. 
He  pushed  one  of  them  out  of  the  way  that  op- 
posed him,  and  made  another  retire  eight  or 
ten  paces  with  a  blow  in  his  breast  from  his 
fist,  and  away  he  ran,  with  his  closed  and 
knotty  fist  in  the  air  ready  for  any  one  who 
should  approach  him.  The  street  before  him 
was  empty,  but  behind  him  he  heard  still 
louder  the  bitter  cries  of  "  give  it  to  him !  give 
it  to  him  !  the  anointer !"  and  heard  the  feet  of 
the  quickest  of  them  drawing  nigh.  His  anger 
was  now  converted  into  fury,  his  anguish  be- 
came desperation  :  a  veil  rose  before  nis  eyes, 
he  seized  his  knife,  unsheathed  it,  stopped  and 
collected  himself,  and  turning  round  with  an 
aspect  more  furious  than  he  had  ever  put  on  in 
his  life,  and  flourishing  the  shining  blade  in  the 
air  with  his  outstretched  arm,  cried  out,  "  come 
on,  you  rascals,  if  you  dare !  I'll  anoint  you  in 
good  earnest  with  this." 

But  he  was  very  much  surprized  and  com- 
forted when  he  saw  his  persecutors  had  stop- 
ped at  some  distance,  as  if  they  were  hesita- 
ting, and  still  screaming,  were  holding  up  their 
hands  and  making  sings  as  if  they  were  alarm- 
ed, at  some  people  in  the  distance  who  were 
behind  him.  Turning  about,  he  saw  before 
him  at  no  great  distance  (his  great  agitation  not 
having  permitted  him  to  see  them  before)  a 
car  that  was  approaching,  indeed  a  train  of  the 
wonted  funeral  cars  with  their  usual  accom- 
paniments, and  beyond  them  another  crowd 
of  people  that  were  wanting  also  to  get  the 


224 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


anointer  between  the  two  parties,  and  so  catch 
him,  but  they  were  prevented  by  the  same  im- 
pediment. Seeing  himself  between  two  fires, 
it  occurred  to  him  that  that  which  was  a  cause 
of  terror  to  them,  might  be  the  means  of  safely 
to  him  :  thinking  it  was  no  time  to  make  diffi- 
culties, he  sheathed  his  knife,  drew  on  one  side 
and  advanced  to  meet  the  cars,  and  passing  the 
first,  perceived  there  was  sufficient  space  left 
in  the  second.  He  measured  the  distance,  and 
sprang  upon  the  car  with  his  right  foot,  with 
his  left  in  the  air,  and  his  arms  stretched  out. 
"  Bravo !  bravo !"  exclaimed  the  monatti 
altogether,  some  of  whom  were  following  the 
car  on  foot,  some  seated  upon  it,  and  others,  to 
relate  the  horrible  circumstance  as  it  was, 
were  seated  upon  the  dead  bodies,  drinking 
from  a  large  flask  they  were  handing  round. 
"Bravo!  well  done!"  "Thou  art  come  to 
put  thyself  under  the  protection  of  the  monat- 
ti, thou  art  as  safe  as  if  thou  wert  in  a  church," 
said  one  of  two  who  were  seated  on  the  car 
where  he  had  leaped. 

His  enemies,  as  the  train  drew  nigh,  had  for 
the  greater  part  turned  their  backs,  and  were 
going  away,  still  crying  give  it  to  him  !  give  it 
to  him  !  the  anointer !  A  few  of  them  retired 
more  slowly,  stopping  now  and  then,  and  turn- 
ing to  grind  their  teeth  and  use  menacing  ges- 
tures at  Renzo,  who  from  the  car  answered 
them  waving  his  fist  in  the  air. 

"  Let  me  manage  them,"  said  a  monatti  to 
him,  and  tearing  a  dirty  piece  of  rag  from  one 
of  the  corpses,  and  making  a  bundle  of  it,  took 
hold  of  one  of  its  ends,  and  made  signs  to  throw 
it  at  them,  as  if  it  were  a  sling,  calling  out, 
"Stop,  you  rascals!"  at  that  motion  all  of 
them  ran  off  horror  struck,  and  Renzo  saw 
nothing  more  but  the  backs  of  his  enemies, 
and  their  heels  going  up  and  down  as  lively  as 
a  fulling  mill. 

The  monatti  raised  a  cry  of  triumph,  a  loud 
burst  of  laughter,  and  a  lengthened  shout  by 
way  of  accompaniment  to  their  flight. 

"  Ah,  ah  !  thou  seest  now  whether  we  know 
how  to  protect  honest  men  or  not,"  said  the 
monatti  to  Renzo,  "  one  of  us  can  frighten  a 
hundred  of  those  cowardly  fellows." 

"  Certainly,  I  may  say,  that  I  owe  you  my 
life,"  answered  he,  "  and  I  thank  you  with  all 
my  heart." 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,"  replied  the  monatti, 
thou  deservest  it,  one  can  see  thou  art  a  good 
young  fellow.  Thou  art  quite  right  in  anoint- 
ing these  rascals  :  anoint  them,  extirpate  them, 
they  are  good  for  nothing  at  all  except  when 
they  are  dead :  they  curse  us  on  account  of 
the  life  we  lead,  and  say,  that  as  soon  as  the 
plague  is  over  they  will  have  us  all  hanged. — 
But  they  will  all  die  before  the  plague  does, 
and  the  monatti  will  be  left  alone  to  sing  vic- 
tory, and  to  enjoy  themselves  in  Milan." 

"  Hurrah  for  the  plague,  and  death  to  all 
the  rascally  crowd  of  fellows  !"  exclaimed  an- 
other, and  with  this  famous  toast  he  put  the 
flask  to  his  mouth,  and  holding  it  with  both 
his  hands,  amidst  the  jolting  of  the  car,  took  a 


long  draught,  then  handed  it  to  Renzo,  saying, 
"  come  drink  to  our  success." 

"  I  wish  it  with  all  my  heart,"  said  Renzo, 
"  but  I  am  not  thirsty,  I  dont  want  to  drink 
just  at  this  moment." 

"They  made  thee  famously  afraid,  as  it 
would  seem,"  said  the  monatti,  "  thou  hast  the 
appearance  of  a  poor  man,  the  anointers  have 
another  sort  of  a  look  than  thine." 

"  Every  one  gets  on  as  well  as  he  can,"  said 
the  other. 

"  Give  me  the  flask,"  said  one  of  the  monat- 
ti that  walked  by  the  side  of  the  car,  "  I  want  to 
take  another  swig  to  the  health  of  the  owner, 
who  is  here  in  this  fine  company — there,  there, 
exactly,  it  seems  to  me,  in  that  famous  coach - 
ful." 

And  with  an  atrocious  grin,  he  pointed  to 
the  car  that  went  before  that  where  Renzo 
was.  Then  drawing  up  his  face  into  a  still 
graver  air  of  scoundrelly  mockery,  he  made  a 
bow  to  the  car,  and  said,  "  will  you  permit, 
my  good  sir,  a  poor  monatti  to  taste  this  can- 
teen of  yours  ?  See  now,  there  must  be  some- 
body to  do  every  thing ;  we  are  the  men  that 
have  put  him  into  his  carriage,  to  take  him  to 
his  country  place — and  since  wine  does  not 
agree  with  your  worship,  why  the  poor  mo- 
natti have  got  good  stomachs." 

Amidst  the  laughter  of  the  company,  he 
took  the  flask,  and  lifted  it  up,  but  before  he 
drank,  he  turned  to  Renzo,  and  looking  him  in 
the  face,  said,  with  a  sort  of  compassionate 
scorn,  "  the  devil  that  thou  hast  made  thy  bar- 
gain with,  is  but  a  young  hand,  for  if  we  had 
not  been  there  to  save  thee,  a  pretty  sort  of 
help  he  was  giving  thee."  And  amidst  a  new 
burst  of  laughter,  he  put  the  flask  to  his  lips. 
"  And  us  ?  hollo  there !  and  us  ?"  those  of  the 
foremost  car  cried  out.  The  ro^ue  having 
quaffed  as  long  as  he  pleased,  delivered  the 
large  flask  with  both  hands  to  some  of  his  com- 
panions, who  passed  it  till  it  came  to  one  who, 
having  finished  the  last  drop,  took  it  by  the 
neck,  and  whirling  it  in  the  air  once  or  twice, 
dashed  it  against  the  stones,  calling  out  "  long 
life  to  the  plague  !"  He  then  broke  out  into 
one  of  their  coarse  songs,  and  immediately  the 
others  joined  him  in  the  atrocious  chorus.  The 
infernal  strain  being  mingled  with  the  sound 
of  bells,  the  cracking  of  whips,  and  the  tramp- 
ling of  horses,  resounded  through  the  desert 
silence  of  the  streets,  and  filling  the  houses, 
made  the  hearts  of  the  few  persons  who  were 
still  alive  in  them,  shrink  fearfully  within 
them. 

But  what  is  there  that  is  utterly  bad  at  all 
times,  and  that  may  not  be  tolerated  upon  some 
occasion  ?  The  difficulty  in  which  Renzo  was 
placed  a  moment  before,  had  made  the  society 
both  of  the  dead  and  the  living  more  than  to- 
lerable to  him,  and  the  noise  which  they  made, 
was  grateful  music  to  his  ears,  as  it  relieved 
him  From  hearing  the  horrid  conversation  that 
was  going  on  around  him.  Agonized  and  con- 
fused as  he  was,  he  thanked  Providence  in  his 
heart,  that  he  had  been  extricated  from  such  a 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


225 


moment,  without  injuring  any  one  or  being  hurt 
himself,  and  prayed  now  that  he  might  be  de- 
livered from  his  deliverers.  He  was  on  the 
alert,  keeping  his  eye  upon  them  and  upon 
the  street,  to  seize  some  moment  to  slip  qui- 
etly down,  without  giving  occasion  to  them  to 
make  any  disturbance  that  might  attract  the 
attention  of  the  passengers. 

When  at  the  turning  of  the  corner,  he  seem- 
ed to  recognize  the  place  where  he  was  pass- 
ing ;  he  looked  attentively  and  knew  it  by  cer- 
tain objects.  Where  was  he  ?  Upon  the  corso 
of  the  oriental  gate,  in  the  very  street  where 
twenty  months  before  he  had  entered  so  slowly 
and  returned  in  such  a  hurry.  He  remember- 
ed directly  that  it  was  the  road  to  the  lazaret- 
to, and  the  fact  of  being  on  the  right  road, 
without  any  effort  of  his  own,  and  without  any 
direction,  he  thought  was  an  especial  act  of 
Providence,  and  that  it  augured  well  for  the 
future.  Just  at  that  moment,  a  commissary 
came  in  front  of  the  cars,  calling  out  to  the 
monatti  to  stop ;  they  halted,  and  the  music 
was  changed  into  a  clamorous  conversation. 
One  of  the  monatti  who  was  upon  the  car 
with  Renzo,  had  got  down,  and  Renzo  now  said 
to  the  other,  "  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness, 
God  reward  you  for  it,"  and  got  down  on  the 
other  side. 

"  Go,  go,  my  poor  anointer,"  answered  he, 
"thou  art  not  the  man  that  will  depopulate 
Milan." 

Fortunately,  there  was  no  one  to  hear  him  ; 
the  convoy  had  stopped  on  the  left  of  the  cor- 
so. Renzo  hastily  crossed  over  to  the  other 
side,  and  keeping  close  to  the  wall,  went  on 
towards  the  bridge,  passed  it,  and  following  the 
well  known  borgo,  recognized  the  convent  of 
capuchins",  and  near  the  gate  saw  an  angle  of 
the  lazaretto  appear ;  he  cleared  the  barrier, 
and  then  saw  the  exterior  spectacle  of  the  en- 
closure, which  was  scarcely  a  specimen  of  a 
vast,  various,  and  indescribable  scene 

Along  the  two  sides  which  present  them- 
selves to  any  spectator  from  that  point,  was  an 
immense  luabbub,  a  sort  of  afflux,  an  overflow- 
ing, a  choaking  of  people :  of  the  sick  who 
were  going  in  troops  to  the  lazaretto,  some  sit- 
ting or  lying  down  on  the  edge  of  the  ditch 
that  runs  along  the  road,  their  strength  having 
proved  insufficient  to  take  them  inside  of  the 
asylum,  or  having  left  it  in  despair,  they  had 
been  equally  unable  to  advance  any  further. 
Others  wandered  about  dispersed,  like  idiots, 
and  not  a.  few  were  quite  deranged :  here  one 
would  be  earnestly  engaged  in  relating  his  fan- 
cies to  some  poor  creature  that  was  laid  pros- 
trate, overcome  with  the  disorder — another 
would  be  raging,  and  another  laughing,  as  if 
he  was  assisting  at  some  merry  spectacle. — 
But  the  most  extraordinary  and  clamorous  part 
of  this  melancholy  mirth,  was  a  loud  and  con- 
tinued singing  which  appeared  to  issue  from 
•  that  sorrowful  assembly,  and  to  be  louder  than 
all  the  other  voices.  It  was  a  popular  love 
song,  gay  and  playful,  one  of  those  which  are 
called  country  songs  :  and  looking  to  discover 
29 


who  it  was  that  could  be  merry  at  such  a  mo- 
ment, he  saw  a  poor  wretch  quietly  seated  in 
the  bottom  of  the  ditch  that  runs'round  the 
walls  of  the  lazaretto,  singing  with  all  his 
might,  with  his  face  lifted  up  and  his  mouth 
wide  open. 

Renzo  had  scarce  gone  a  few  paces  along 
the  southern  side  of  the  edifice,  than  he  heard 
an  extraordinary  rumor  in  the  crowd,  and  a 
distant  warning  cry  to  take  care.  He  stood  on 
tiptoe  to  look  before  him,  and  saw  a  horse  going 
at  full  gallop,  urged  on  by  a  death-like  looking 
rider :  it  was  one  of  those  frantic  wretches, 
who  perceiving  the  animal  loose  near  a  car, 
and  no  one  guarding  it,  had  jumped  on  its  bare 
back,  and  striking  it  on  the  neck  with  his  fists, 
and  using  his  heels  for  spurs,  was  riding  furi- 
ously forward,  whilst  the  monatti  behind  were 
screaming  out  to  him ;  a  cloud  of  dust,  which 
lengthened  to  a  great  distance,  enveloped  them 
as  they  went. 

Thus  confounded  and  tired  out  with  misery, 
the  youth  reached  the  gate  of  the  place,  where 
more  persons  perhaps  were  crowded  together 
than  were  to  be  found  in  all  the  space  he  had 
passed  over.  He  went  to  the  gate,  entered  be- 
neath the  arch,  and  remained  for  a  moment 
immovable  beneath  the  porch. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

LET  the  reader  imagine  to  himself  the  laza- 
retto peopled  with  sixteen  thousand  persons 
infected  with  the  plague.  The  whole  area  fill- 
ed with  cabins  and  barracks,  cars  and  people  : 
those  two  interminable  ranges  of  portico  to  the 
right  and  left,covered  completely  with  the  sick, 
and  with  carcasses  prostrate  on  mattresses  or 
on  straw.  And  in  every  part  of  that  immense 
den,  a  buzzing  and  an  agitation  like  the  break- 
ing of  the  billows  on  the  shore  :  inside  of  it, 
was  a  constant  going  and  coming,  a  stopping, 
a  running,  a  stooping  down,  a  rising  up,  of 
convalescents,  of  crazy  people,  and  of  assist- 
ants. Such  was  the  spectacle  that  at  once 
presented  itself  to  Renzo 's  eyes,  and  that  kept 
him  there  oppressed,  and  unable  to  move. — 
We  do  not  propose  to  describe  this  spectacle 
minutely,  knowing  that  none  of  our  readers 
would  thank  us  for  doing  so,  only,  following 
our  young  friend  in  his  painful  examination, 
we  will  stop  where  he  stops,  and  of  that  which 
lie  happens  to  see  we  will  relate  as  much  as  is 
necessary  to  explain  what  he  did,  and  what 
occurred  to  him. 

From  the  gate  where  he  first  stopped,  as  far 
as  the  small  temple  in  the  centre,  and  from 
thence  to  the  other  gate  opposite,  there  was  a 
sort  of  empty  lane  without  cabins  or  impedi- 
ments of  any  kind,  and  at  the  second  look,  he 
perceived  them  very  busy  in  removing  cars 
and  making  it  clear.  He  saw  officers  and 
capuchins  directing  the  operation,  and  sending 


226 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


those  away  who  had  nothing  do  to  there.  And 
fearing  also  lest  he  should  be  sent  away  in  the 
same  manner,  he  immediately  got  behind  the 
cabins  to  the  right,  on  the  side  where  he  had 
casually  got. 

He  advanced,  wherever  there  was  sufficient 
room  to  place  his  feet,  from  cabin  to  cabin, 
putting  his  head  in  each  of  them,  examining 
every  one  who  was  lying  down,  looking  at  the 
countenances  of  those  who  had  sunk  beneath 
their  sufferings,  contracted  by  spasms,  or  im- 
movable in  death,  to  see  whether  he  could  suc- 
ceed in  finding  the  one  he  dreaded  even  to 
discover.  He  went  on  for  some  distance  and 
repeated  over  again  his  painful  investigations, 
without  having  perceived  one  female,  from 
which  circumstance  he  concluded  that  they 
must  be  in  some  separate  place.  This  was  a 
conjecture,  but  he  had  no  indication,  nor  could 
come  to  any  conclusion  where  that  place  was. 
He  met  from  time  to  time  with  persons  minister- 
ing to  the  wants  of  the  people,  as  different  in 
appearance,  in  manners,  and  in  dress,  as  the 
principles  were  opposed  to  each  other,  which 
animated  both  one  and  the  other  to  live  in  the 
discharge  of  the  duties  they  had  to  perform ;  in 
some  of  them  there  was  an  extinction  of  all 
sense  of  piety,  in  others  it  shone  forth  almost 
superhuman.  But  he  put  no  questions  to  any 
of  them,  that  he  might  create  no  difficulties  in 
his  way,  and  determined  to  go  alone  by  him- 
self, until  he  should  meet  with  some  females. 
And  as  he  went,  he  never  omitted  to  look 
around  him,  though  every  now  and  then  he 
was  obliged  to  withdraw,  subdued  and  unnerv- 
ed by  such  singular  distress  ?  But  where  could 
he  turn  his  eyes,  without  meeting  with  dis- 
tress ? 

The  air  and  the  sky  increased,  if  any  thing 
could  increase,  the  horror  of  the  sight.  The 
fog  had  by  degrees  thickened  and  resolved  it- 
self into  masses  of  clouds,  which  becoming 
darker  and  darker,  gave  things  the  appearance 
of  a  tempestuous  and  gloomy  evening,  if  it 
were  not  that  towards  the  centre  of  that  dark 
and  lowering  sky,  the  disc  of  the  sun  appeared, 
as  through  a  thick  veil,  pale,  and  spreading 
around  it  a  feeble  glimmering,  and  sent  down 
a  dead  and  heavy  heat.  Every  now  and  then, 
amidst  the  vast  surrounding  hum,  the  rumbling 
of  deep  thunder  was  heard,  broken  and  unde- 
termined, nor  when  listening  with  attention 
was  it  possible  to  distinguish  from  what  quar- 
ter it  came,  so  that  it  might  have  been  mista- 
ken for  a  distant  noise  made  by  some  cars 
which  had  stopped  on  a  sudden.  In  the  sur- 
rounding country,  not  a  branch  of  a  tree  was 
seen  to  move,  nor  a  bird  to  alight  or  to  fly  away ; 
save  the  swallow,  which  darting  rapidly  from 
the  roof  of  the  enclosure,  went  gliding  along 
with  its  wings  spread  out,  as  if  to  skim  along 
the  ground,  but  frightened  by  the  confusion  of 
the  scene,  shot  up  again  quietly  and  disappear- 
ed. It  was  one  of  those  moments,  when  amidst 
a  whole  company  of  travelers  no  one  is  heard 
to  break  silence, — when  the  hunter  walks 
thoughtfully  on  looking  to  the  ground,  and  the 


country  maiden  stops  her  song  without  being 
aware  of  it,  whilst  at  her  labor  in  the  field; — 
One  of  those  moments  which  are  forerunners 
of  the  storm,  in  which,  nature,  immovable 
without,  and  agitated  by  an  inward  commotion, 
seems  to  oppress  all  animated  things,  and  adds- 
a  weight  to  every  thing:  to  idleness,  and 
even  to  existence.  But  in  that  place,  destined 
of  itself  to  suffering  and  death,  man  already 
struggling  with  misery,  was  seen  subdued 
by  this  new  oppression  ;  hundreds  were  seen 
to  get  worse  rapidly,  this  last  struggle  was 
the  most  dreadful,  whether  in  relation  to  the 
increase  of  suffering,  or  to  the  suffocating  cries 
of  the  afflicted  :  perhaps  this  place  had  never 
known  so  bitter  an  hour  before. 

The  youth  had  for  some  time  wandered  fruit- 
lessly through  this  labyrinth  of  cabins,  when, 
amidst  the  variety  of  lamentations,  and  in  the 
confusion  of  the  complainings,  he  began  to  dis- 
tinguish a  singular  mixture  of  cries  and  bawl- 
ings,  till  he  came  to  a  rudely  constructed 
partition,  from  within  which  this  singular 
noise  proceeded.  He  looked  through  a  crack 
between  two  boards,  and  perceived  it  was  an 
enclosure  with  cabins  here  and  there  within  it, 
and  in  them,  not  such  an  infirmary  as  he  had 
seen  in  the  small  encampment  he  had  passed 
through,  but  infants  laid  upon  small  mattresses, 
or  pillows,  or  bed  clothes  spread  out,  and  nur- 
ses or  other  women  occupied  with  them  ;  but 
what  arrested  his  attention  more  than  anything 
else,  was  the  goats  which  were  there  as  assist- 
ants to  the  women — it  was  a  hospital  for  inno- 
cents, such  as  the  place  and  time  afforded.  It 
was  something  new  to  see  some  of  these  ani- 
mals standing  still  over  this  and  that  infant  to 
let  them  suck,  and  another  running  to  the  bleat- 
ing of  a  little  one,  through  maternal  instinct, 
and  stop  at  the  little  thing,  and  try  to  get  in  a 
good  position,  and  cry  out  and  fidget  as  if  it 
was  calling  some  one  to  help  them  both. 

Here  and  there  nurses  were  seated  with  babes 
at  the  breast,  some  of  them  so  affectionately 
engaged,  as  to  raise  doubts  in  the  spectator, 
whether  they  had  been  brought  there  by  hopes 
of  reward.or  by  that  spontaneous  charity  which 
goes  in  search  of  suffering  and  misery.  One 
of  these,  with  a  distressed  countenance,  took 
from  her  exhausted  bosom  a  crying  little  crea- 
ture, and  went  sadly  to  look  for  the  animal  that 
might  serve  in  her  place.  Another  tenderly 
regarding  one  who  was  asleep  upon  her  breast, 
kissed  it  gently,  and  went  to  lie  it  down  on  a 
little  bed  in  one  of  the  cabins.  But  a  third 
abandoning  her  bosom  to  the  hungry  little  stran- 
ger, with  an  air,  not  of  negligence  but  of  ab- 
straction, looked  steadily  up  to  Heaven.  And 
what  was  she  thinking  of  in  that  attitude  and 
with  that  look,  if  not  of  her  own  darling,  which 
perhaps  a  short  time  before,  had  drawn  from 
that  vital  source,  and  which  perhaps  had  ex- 
pired upon  it  ? 

Other  females,  of  a  more  advanced  age,  at- 
tended to  other  duties.  This  one  ran  to  the 
cries  of  a  hungry  child,  took  it,  carried  it  to  a 
goat  feeding  upon  a  heap  of  fresh  grass,  and 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


227 


presented  it  to  its  teats,  coaxing  and  caressing 
with  her  voice  the  inexperienced  animal,  to 
lend  itself  to  the  act.  Another  ran  to  secure 
a  goat,  that  was  trampling  upon  a  poor  little 
thing,  to  go  and  suckle  another.  A  third  was 
walking  her  baby  about,  dandling  it  in  her 
arms,  trying  to  lull  it  to  sleep  with  her  song,  or 
to  quiet  it  with  endearing  words,  calling  it  by 
some  tender  name  she  had  given  to  it.  At  this 
moment,  a  capuchin  came  with  a  white  beard, 
carrying  two  screaming  little  things,  one  in 
each  arm,  just  taken  from  their  exanimated 
mothers,  and  a  woman  ran  to  receive  them, 
and  looked  amongst  the  nurses  and  goats,  to 
see  who  should  take  the  place  of  their  mothers. 

More  than  once  the  youth,  pressed  by  his 
own  anxiety,  had  removed  his  eye  from  the 
place  to  go  away,  and  had  put  it  back  again, 
to  look  on  another  moment. 

Having  at  length  gone,  he  proceeded  along 
the  partition,  till  a  parcel  of  cabins  that  were 
joined  to  it,  obliged  him  to  change  his  course. 
He  followed  the  direction  of  the  cabins,  in- 
tending to  regain  the  partition,  to  turn  the  cor- 
ner and  make  new  discoveries.  Whilst  he  was 
looking  before,  to  study  the  way,  a  sudden  ap- 
parition, quick  and  instantaneous,  struck  his 
eyes,  and  threw  him  into  disorder.  At  a  dis- 
tance of  a  hundred  paces  he  saw  a  capuchin 
pass  and  disappear  directly  amongst  the  tents, 
a  capuchin,  that  even  at  that  distance,  and  pas- 
sing so  rapidly,  had  the  complete  walk,  action, 
and  figure  of  Father  Christopher.  With  all  the 
agitation  that  may  be  supposed,  he  ran  to  the 
place,  and  there  he  wandered,  and  sought,  be- 
fore, behind,  within  and  without,  in  every  pos- 
sible direction,  until  to  his  great  joy  he  saw  the 
figure  of  the  same  friar  again.  He  saw  him  at 
a  short  distance,  going  away  from  a  large  pot, 
with  a  porringer  in  his  hand,  towards  one  of 
the  cabins :  he  then  seated  himself  at  the  door, 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  the  food  that 
was  before  him,  and  looking  around  like  a  per- 
son always  on  the  alert,  began  to  eat.  It  was 
father  Christopher  himself. 

His  story,  from  the  moment  we  lost  sight  of 
him,  until  this  moment,  may  be  told  in  two 
Words.  He  had  never  removed  from  Rimini,  nor 
had  thought  of  ever  doing  so,  except  when  the 
plague  broke  out  at  Milan,  and  furnished  him 
an  occasion  of  ever  doing  what  he  had  always 
wished  to  do,  sacrificing  his  life  for  his  fellow 
creatures.  He  entreated,  with  pressing  instan- 
ces, to  be  recalled,  that  he  might  serve  and  as- 
sist the  infected.  The  count  uncle  was  dead, 
and  as  to  the  rest,  benevolent  men  like  him 
were  more  wanted  than  politicians,  so  that  his 
wish  was  granted  without  difficulty.  He  came 
immediately  to  Milan,  entered  the  lazaretto, 
and  had  been  there  about  three  months. 

But  the  consolation  of  Renzo  at  thus  rinding 
his  good  friar,  was  by  no  means  perfect.  At 
the  same  time  he  was  certain  it  was  him,  he 
was  painfully  impressed  with  the  great  change 
that  had  taken  place  in  him.  His  body  was 
bent  and  he  moved  painfully,  his  face  was  mea- 
gre and  worn,  nature  appeared  to  be  exhausted 


in  him,  his  flesh  was  wasted  away,  and  it  was 
evident  that  he  sustained  himself  at  every  in- 
stant, by  the  force  of  his  mind. 
He  too  looked  at  the  youth  who  was  ap- 

Sroaching  him,  and  who  by  his  gestures,  not 
aring  to  speak  to  him,  sought  to  recall  himself 
to  the  recollection  of  the  friar.  "  Oh,  Father 
Christopher!"  said  he  at  last,  when  be  was 
near  enough  to  be  heard  without  speaking 
loud. 

"  Art  thou  here  ?"  said  the  friar,  putting  his 
porringer  on  the  ground,  and  standing  up. 

"  How  are  you,  father  ?  how  are  you  ?" 

"  Better  than  a  great  many  poor  wretches 
thou  seest,"  replied  the  friar.  His  voice  was 
faint,  hollow,  and  changed  like  every  thing 
else.  His  eye  however  was  still  the  same,  even 
it  had  a  still  brighter  look,  as  if  charity,  subli- 
mated at  the  end  of  its  work,  and  exulting  at 
the  prospect  of  drawing  near  to  its  great  source, 
had  restored  a  fire  there  more  ardent  and  still 
purer  than  that  which  infirmity  was  gradually 
extinguishing. 

"  But  thou,"  he  continued,  "  why  art  thou  in 
this  place  ?  Why  art  thou  thus  come  to  face 
the  plague  ?" 

"I  have  recovered  from  it,  Heaven  be 
thanked.  I  am  come — to  look  for — Lucia." 

"  Lucia,  is  Lucia  here  ?" 

"  She  is  here,  at  least  I  hope  in  God  she  is 
here  yet." 

"  Is  she  thy  wife  ? 

"  Oh,  dear  father !  no,  she  is  not  my  wife 
Dont  you  know  what  has  happened  ?" 

"  No,  my  son,  since  God  sent  me  away  from 
you,  I  have  heard  nothing  whatever  of  you  ; 
but  since  he  has  sent  thee  to  me,  I  speak  the 
truth  when  I  say  I  wish  much  to  know  what 
has  happened.  But — the  proclamation  against 
thee  ?" 

"  You  know  then  what  they  have  done  to 
me?" 

"  But  what  hadst  thou  done  ?" 

"  Hear — if  I  should  say  that  I  had  acted  dis- 
creetly that  day  in  Milan,  I  should  tell  a  lie, 
but  bad  actions  I  have  never  committed." 

"  I  believe  thee,  and  I  believed  it  from  the 
first." 

"  Then,  now  I  can  tell  you  all." 

"  Stop,"  said  the  friar ;  and  going  a  few  pa- 
ces from  the  cabin,  he  called  out,  "  Father  Vit- 
tore  !"  soon  after,  a  young  capuchin  came,  to 
whom  he  said,  "have  the  kindness,  father  Vit- 
tore,  to  wait,  for  me,  upon  our  creatures  here, 
whilst  I  retire  a  short  time,  but  if  any  one 
should  want  me,  be  good  enough  to  cafl  me. 
Especially  the  one  you  know !  If  ever  he  should 
give  the  slightest  sign  of  consciousness,  let  me 
immediately  be  informed  of  it,  for  charity's 
sake." 

The  young  friar  answered  that  he  would  do 
so,  and  the  old  one  turning  to  Renzo,  said  "  let 
us  enter  here.  But — "  he  added,  "  thou  look- 
est  fatigued,  and  wantest  something  to  eat." 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Renzo,  "  now  that  you, 
father,  make  me  think  of  it,  I  remember  I  nave 
not  broken  my  fast." 


228 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


"  Stop,"  said  the  friar,  and  taking  another 
porringer,  he  went  to  the  large  kettle  to  fill  it, 
and  then  presented  it  with  a  spoon  to  Renzo  : 
he  then  made  him  sit  down  upon  a  sack  that 
served  him  for  his  bed,  and  went  to  a  little 
cask  that  was  in  a  comer,  and  brought  a  glass 
of  wine,  and  placed  it  on  a  small  table  near  his 
guest,  he  then  took  his  own  porringer,  and  sat 
down  by  him. 

"  Oh,  Father  Christopher  !"  said  Renzo,  "  it 
does  not  belong  to  you  to  do  these  things,  but 
you  are  always  the  same.  I  thank  you  with  all 
my  heart." 

"  Dont  thank  me,"  said  the  friar,  it  is  the 
food  of  the  poor,  but  thou  art  also  one  of  the 
poor  at  this  time.  Now  tell  me  what  I  am  ig- 
norant of,  tell  me  about  our  poor  girl,  and  try 
to  do  it  in  a  few  words,  for  time  is  precious, 
and  there  is  enough  to  do,  as  thou  seest." 

Renzo,  between  the  spoonsfull,  went  on  with 
the  story  of  Lucia,  how  she  took  refuge  in  the 
monastery  of  Monza,  how  she  had  been  earned 
off — at  the  very  idea  of  such  sufferings  and 
dangers,  at  the  thought  that  it  was  he  who 
had  sent  the  poor  innocent  girl  to  that  place, 
the  good  friar  was  scarce  able  to  breathe,  but 
he  recovered  himself  when  he  heard  how  she 
had  been  miraculously  delivered,  restored  to 
her  mother,  and  placed  by  her  under  the  care 
of  Donna  Prasede. 

"  Now,  father,  I  will  tell  you  about  myself," 
pursued  the  narrator,  and  entered  into  a  suc- 
cinct relation  of  the  famous  day  at  Milan,  his 
flight,  how  he  had  never  returned  home,  and 
now,  every  thing  being  topsy  turvy,  he  had 
determined  to  go  there  :  how  he  had  not  found 
Agnes  there,  and  that  he  had  been  told  in  Mi- 
lan that  Lucia  was  in  the  lazaretto.  "  And 
here  I  am,"  he  concluded,  "  here  I  am  looking 
for  her,  to  see  if  she  is  alive,  and  if— she  will 
still  have  me — because — sometimes — " 

"But  how  hast  thou  set  about  it?"  asked 
the  friar,  "  hast  thou  any  indication  of  the 
quarter  where  she  has  been  put,  or  of  the  time 
when  she  came  here  ?" 

"  None  at  all,  dear  father,  I  know  nothing  but 
that  she  is  here  ;  if  indeed  she  is  here,  wTiich 
God  grant  may  be  the  case  !" 

"  My  poor  fad  !  but  what  diligence  hast  thou 
used  until  now?" 

I  have  gone  up  and  down,  but  amongst  other 
things,  I  have  seen  almost  nothing  but  men. 
I  have  thought  that  the  women  must  be  in 
some  place  apart,  but  I  have  not  been  able  to 
find  it :  if  it  is  so,  you  can  tell  me  father  where 
it  is." 

"  Dost  thou  not  know  my  son,  that  men  are 
prohibited  from  going  there  who  have  not  some 
particular  business  there  ?" 

"Well,  what  can  prevent  me  ?" 

"  The  regulation  is  a  proper  and  a  holy  one, 
my  dear  son,  and  if  the  quantity  and  weight 
of  misfortune  does  not  permit  the  rigorous  ob- 
servance of  it,  is  that  a  reason  for  a  respecta- 
ble man  to  transgress  it?" 

"  But,  Father  Christopher ! "  said  Renzo, 
"  Lucia  was  to  have  been  my  wife ;  you  know 


how  we  have  been  separated,  twenty  months 
I  have  suffered  and  have  been  patient :  here 
I  am  come  at  last  through  so  many  risks,  one 
worse  than  another,  and  now — " 

"I  know  not  what  to  say,"  answered  the 
friar,  answering  his  own  thoughts  rather  than 
the  words  of  the  youth :  thy  intentions  are 
good,  and  would  to  God  that  all  who  have  free 
access  to  that  place,  conducted  themselves  as 
well  as  I  can  believe  thou  wouldst  do.  God,  who 
certainly  blesses  this  persevering  affection,  this 
fidelity  in  loving  and  in  seeking  for  her  whom 
he  gave  to  thee  ^  God,  however  rigorous  with 
men,  is  still  more  indulgent,  and  will  not  look 
at  what  may  be  irregular  in  thy  mode  of  search- 
ing for  her :  only  remember,  that  of  thy  con- 
duct in  that  place,  we  shall  both  of  us  have  to 
give  an  account,  not  perhaps  to  men,  but  to  Him 
beyond  all  doubt.  Come  here  ;"  saying  this  he 
rose,  and  with  him  Renzo,  •who  kept  listening 
to  his  words,  and  had  determined  with  himself, 
not  to  speak  as  he  had  at  first  proposed,  of 
Lucia's  vow.  If  he  hears  of  that  too — he 
thought, — he  will  be  making  some  more  diffi- 
culties— either  I  shall  find  her,  and  then  we 
can  talk  of  it,  or — and  then  !  it  will  be  of  no 
use. 

Having  taken  him  to  the  opening  of  the 
cabin,  which  was  to  the  north,  the  friar  con- 
tinued, "  listen,  our  father  Felice,  who  is  the 
president  here  in  the  lazaretto,  has  this  day,  to 
conduct  to  another  place,  the  few  who  have  re- 
covered, to  pass  their  quarantine.  Thou  seest 
that  church  there  in  the  middle — "  and  lifting 
his  emaciated  and  trembling  hand,  pointed,  in 
the  turbid  air,  to  the  cupola  on  the  left  of  the 
small  temple,  which  was  towering  above  the 
wretched  tents,  he  continued,  "  they  are  now 
assembling  there,  to  go  in  procession  by  the 
gate  through  which  thou  must  have  entered." 

"  Ah  !  this  then  is  what  they  were  trying  to 
clear  the  way  for?" 

"  Exactly,  and  thou  must  ave  heard  the  bell 
ring." 

"  Once  I  did." 

"  That  was  the  second,  at  the  third  they  will 
all  be  assembled  ;  father  Felice  will  say  a  few 
words  to  them,  and  then  will  accompany  them. 
When  it  rings,  go  there,  and  contrive  to  get 
behind  the  assembly  upon  the  edge  of  the  pas- 
sage, where,  without  any  trouble  or  without 
being  perceived,  thou  mayst  see  them  pass, 
and  then  look — and  see — if  she  is  there.  If 
it  is  God's  pleasure  that  thou  shouldst  not  see 
her,  that  part,"  and  raising  his  hand  again,  and 
pointing  to  that  side  of  the  building  wriich  was 
fronting  them,  "  that  part  of  the  edifice,  and  a 
part  of  the  space  whicn  thou  seest  before  thee, 
is  assigned  to  the  women.  Thou  wilt  see  a 
palisade  which  separates  this  from  that  quar- 
ter, but  broken  and  open,  so  that  there  is  no 
difficulty  in  entering.  When  thou  art  within, 
if  thou  givest  umbrage  to  no  one,  no  one  will 
probably  say  any  thing  to  thee ;  if  any  one 
however  seeks  to  prevent  thee,  tell  him  that 

Father  Christopher  of knows  thee,  and 

will  be  answerable  for  thee.  Seek  her  there, 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


229 


seek  her  with  fidelity,  and — with  resignation  : 
for,  remember,  it  is  a  great  thing  thou  art  come 
to  the  lazaretto  to  ask 'for,  a  living  person! 
Dost  thou  know  how  often  I  have  seen  this  my 
poor  people  renewed  here?  How  many  car- 
ried away !  how  few  go  out  alive !  Go  prepared 
to  make  a  sacrifice — " 

"I  understand,"  said  Renzo,  interrupting  him, 
his  aspect  changing,  and  his  countenance  dark- 
ening, "  I  understand.  I  will  go,  I  will  look, 
I  wifl  search,  in  one  place,  then  in  another, 
and  then  after  all  from  the  top  to  the  bottom  of 
the  lazaretto — and,  if  I  do  not  find  her — ! 

"  If  Ihou  dost  not  find  her  ?"  said  the  friar 
with  a  serious  air,  and  with  an  admonishing 
look. 

But  Renzo,  whose  heart  was  full  of  anger, 
and  whose  feelings  overcame  his  respect,  re- 
peated his  words,  and  went  on,  "  If  I  do  not  find 
her,  I  will  contrive  to  find  somebody  else. 
Either  in  Milan  or  in  his  wicked  palace,  or  at 
the  end  of  the  world,  or  to  the  devils  own 
dwelling.  I  will  find  the  scoundrel  that  has 
separated  us,  the  villain,  who  if  it  was  not  for 
him,  Lucia  would  have  been  mine,  twenty 
months  ago  :  and  if  we  had  been  destined  to 
die,  at  least  we  should  have  died  together.  If 
he  is  alive  yet,  I  will  find  him — " 

"  Renzo,"  said  the  friar,  seizing  him  by  the 
arm,  and  looking  at  him  with  great  severity. 

"And  if  I  do  find  him,"  continued  he,  blind 
with  rage,  "  if  the  plague  has  not  done  him 
justice — these  are  no  longer  times  when  a 
coward,  with  his  bravos  around  him,  can  drive 
people  to  despair,  and  then  laugh  at  them  :  this 
is  a  time  when  one  man  can  look  another  in 
the  face,  and — I  will  do  justice  to  him  my- 
self!" 

"Desperate  youth  !"  cried  Father  Christo- 
pher, with  his  former  full  and  sonorous  voice, 
"  desperate  youth !"  and  his  head,  pendant  on 
his  breast,  was  raised  up,  his  cheeks  resumed 
their  former  color,  and  the  fire  of  his  eyes  had 
something  terrible  in  it;  "see,  rash  young 
man,"  and  whilst  with  one  hand  he  seized  and 
strongly  shook  the  arm  of  Renzo,  he  waved  the 
other  before  him,  pointing  as  much  as  he  could 
to  the  whole  miserable  scene  around  him, 
"  see,  who  it  is  that  chastises  !  He  who  judges, 
and  is  not  judged !  He,  who  scourges  and  for- 

fives !  But  thou,  worm  of  the  earth,  thou  wilt 
o  justice  !  Thou,  thou  knowest  what  justice 
is  !  Go,  rash  boy,  begone !  I  had  hoped — yes, 
I  had  hoped  that  before  my  death,  God  would 
have  given  me  the  consolation  to  know  that 
my  poor  Lucia  was  alive,  perhaps  to  see  her, 
and  to  hear  her  promise,  that  she  would  put  up 
a  prayer  towards  the  ditch  where  I  shall  be. 
Go,  thou  hast  taken  that  hope  from  me.  God 
has  not  left  her  upon  the  earth  for  thee,  and 
thou,  surely,  hast  not  the  audacity  to  believe 
thyself  worthy  that  God  should  think  of  con- 
soling thee.  He  will  have  thought  of  her,  be- 
cause she  is  of  those  souls  for  whom  eternal 
consolations  are  reserved.  Go,  I  have  no  more 
time  to  waste  on  thee." 
Saying  this,  he  flung  the  arm  of  Renzo  from 


him,  and  moved  towards  a  cabin  of  the  sick. 
"Ah,  father!"  said  Renzo,  following  him  in 
a  supplicating  manner,  "  will  you  send  me 
away  in  this  manner?" 

"How!"  replied  the  capuchin  with  an 
equally  severe  tone,  "would'st  thou  dare  to 
pf  etend  that  I  should  rob  these  afiiicted  ones, 
of  the  precious  time,  they  are  waiting  for  me 
to  speak  of  the  pardon  of  God  to  them,  to 
listen  to  thy  intemperate  words,  thy  threats  of 
vengeance  ?  I  listened  to  thee  when  thou 
askedst  for  consolation  and  counsel,  I  left 
charity  on  one  side,  for  charity's  sake,  but  now 
that  thou  hast  revenge  at  heart,  what  would'st 
have  from  me.  Go  !  I  have  seen  the  injured 
die  here  pardoning  those  who  had  offended 
them  ;  offenders,  who  groaned  •  because  they 
could  not  humiliate  themselves  before  those 
they  had  injured,  I  have  wept  with  them  all, 
but  what  have  I  to  do  with  thee  ?" 

"  Ah,  I  pardon  him !  I  pardon  him,  truly ;  I 
pardon  him  for  ever !"  exclaimed  the  youth. 

"  Renzo !  said  the  friar  in  a  severe  but  more 
appeased  manner ;  "  reflect,  and  say  how  many 
times  thou  hast  pardoned  him  ?" 

And  remaining  sometime  without  receiving 
any  answer,  all  at  once  he  drooped  his  head, 
and  with  his  voice  once  more  humbled,  con- 
tinued, "  thou  knowest  why  I  bear  this  habit !" 

Renzo  hesitated. 

"Thou  knowest  why!"  continued  the  old 
man. 

"I  know,"  answered  Renzo. 

"  I  too  have  hated :  I  who  have  reproved 
thee  for  a  thought,  for  a  word  :  the  man  whom 
I  hated,  whom  I  hated  cordially,  whom  I  long 
hated,  I  slew." 

"  Yes,  but  he  was  an  overbearing  person, 
one  of  those  who — " 

"  Silence  !"  interrupted  the  friar  "dost thou 
believe,  if  there  had  been  a  good  reason  to  give 
for  it,  that  I  should  not  have  found  it  in  thirty 
years  ?  Ah !  if  I  could  only  transfuse  into  thy 
heart  the  feeling  that  I  have  always  had,  and 
that  I  now  have,  for  the  man  that  I  hated.  If 
I  only  could  !  I  ?  But  God  can  ;  may  he  do  it ! 
Hear,  Renzo,  he  intends  thee  a  greater  kindness 
than  thou  seekest  at  his  hands  ;  thou  hast  en- 
couraged the  thought  of  vengeance,  but  he  has 
power  enough  and  mercy  enough  to  prevent 
thy  executing  it ;  he  does  thee  a  favor  of  which 
others  have  been  unworthy.  Thou  knowest, 
thou  hast  said  it  often,  that  he  can  stay  the 
hand  of  a  tyrant,  but  know  that  he  can  also 
stay  that  of  a  vindictive  man.  And  because 
thou  art  poor,  and  hast  been  injured,  dost 
thou  think  he  cannot  protect  against  the  ven- 
geance of  a  man  whom  he  has  created  in  his 
own  image  ?  Dost  thou  believe  that  he  would 
permit  thee  to  do  whatever  thou  wishest  ?  No ! 
but  dost  thou  know  what  thou  art  able  to  do  ? 
Thou  canst  hate,  and  ruin  thyself;  thou  canst 
with  that  feeling  banish  from  thee  every  bles- 
sing :  for  however  things  may  go,  however  for- 
tune may  lead  thee,  hold  it  for  certain  that 
every  thing  will  be  punishment,  until  thou  hast 
pardoned,  and  pardoned  in  such  a  manner,  that 


230 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


it  will  never  more  be  necessary  for  thee  to  say, 
"  I  pardon  him  !" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Renzo  with  emotion,  and 
quite  contused,  "  I  see  that  I  never  have  par- 
doned him  truly,  I  feel  that  I  have  spoken  like 
a  brute,  and  not  like  a  Christian,  but  now,  with 
God's  grace,  yes,  I  pardon  him  with  all  my 
heart." 

"  And  if  thou  couldest  see  him  ?" 

"  I  would  pray  to  the  Lord  to  give  me  pati- 
ence, and  to  touch  his  heart." 

"  Wilt  thou  remember  that  the  Lord  has 
not  told  us  to  pardon  our  enemies,  but  to  love 
them  ?  Wilt  thou  remember  that  he  has  loved 
man  so  far  as  to  die  for  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  with  his  aid  ?" 

"  Well,  come  and  see  him.  Thou  hast  said 
"  I  will  find  him,  thou  shalt  find  him.  Come 
and  thou  shalt  behold  against  whom  thou  hast 
been  able  to  preserve  hatred,  for  whom  thou 
couldst  wish  evil,  desire  to  do  it  to,  whose  life 
thou  wantedst  to  be  master  of." 

And  taking  Renzo's  hand,  and  holding  it  as 
if  he  had  been  a  strong  youth,  he  moved. — 
Without  daring  to  ask  any  questions,  he  went 
with  him. 

After  a  short  walk,  the  friar  stopped  at  the 
opening  of  a  cabin,  he  looMed  Renzo  in  the 
face  with  a  mixture  of  gravity  and  tenderness, 
and  drew  him  in. 

The  first  thing  that  appeared  on  their  en- 
trance, was  a  sick  person  seated  on  the  straw 
on  the  bottom  of  the  cabin ;  sick  but  not  ex- 
cessively so,  and  who  even  appeared  to  be 
near  convalescence  ;  this  man,  on  seeing  the 
father,  moved  his  head,  as  if  meaning  to  say, 
no :  the  father  stooped  his  own,  in  a  sorrowful 
and  resigned  manner.  In  the  meantime  Ren- 
zo, directing  his  looks  with  an  unquiet  curiosi- 
ty to  other  objects,  saw  three  or  four  sick  peo- 
ple :  he  perceived  on  one  side,  a  person  lying 
on  a  bed,  covered  with  a  sheet,  and  a  noble- 
man's cloak  laid  over  it,  in  the  manner  of  a 
quilt ;  he  looked  at  him,  and  recognizing  Don 
Kodrigo,  drew  back ;  but  the  friar  making  him 
feel  the  strength  of  the  hand  which  held  him, 
took  him  to  the  feet  of  the  prostrate  invalid, 
and  extending  his  other  hand  over  him,  pointed 
with  his  finger  to  Don  Rodrigo.  The  unhappy 
man  was  motionless,  his  eyes  were  wide  open, 
but  without  life  :  his  face  was  wan,  and  spread 
over  with  black  spots,  his  lips  too  were  black 
and  swollen.  One  would  have  said  it  was  a 
corpse,  if  a  violent  contraction  of  the  features 
had  not  shown  how  tenacious  life  was.  His 
breast  heaved  now  and  then  with  a  painful 
breathing,  his  right  hand  was  drawn  out  of  the 
cloak,  he  seemed  to  press  his  heart  with  it, 
with  his  fingers  all  crooked,  which  were  livid 
and  black  at  the  extremities. 

"Thou  seest!"said  the  friar  in  a  low  and 
solemn  tone,  "  It  may  be  punishment,  it  may 
be  mercy.  The  feeling  thou  now  cherishest 
for  this  man,  who  has  injured  thee,  will  be  like 
that  which  God,  whom  thou  hast  injured,  will 
have  for  thee  at  the  last  moment.  Bless  him, 
and  be  blessed.  He  has  been  here  four  days, 


as  thou  seest,  without  giving  any  indication  of 
feeling.  Perhaps  the  Lord  was  about  to  grant 
him  an  hourofconsci6usness,but  waited  for  thee 
to  pray  to  Him  for  it ;  perhaps  he  wishes  that 
thou  and  that  innocent  girl  should  pray  to  him ; 
perhaps  he  reserves  that  act  of  grace  for  thy 
prayer  alone,  the  prayer  of  an  afflicted  and  re- 
signed heart.  Perhaps  the  salvation  of  this 
man  and  of  thyself  depends  now  upon  thyself, 
upon  that  feeling  of  pardon,  of  compassion — of 
love !"  He  ceased,  and  joining  his  hands,  in- 
clined his  face  over  them,  as  if  to  pray.  Renzo 
did  the  same. 

They  were  a  few  moments  in  that  position, 
when  they  heard  the  bell  ring  the  third  time. 
They  both  moved  as  if  in  concert,  and  went 
out.  They  spoke  not  a  word ;  their  counte- 
nances spoke. 

"  Go  now,"  resumed  the  friar,  "  go  prepared 
to  make  a  sacrifice,  to  praise  Goo,  whatever 
may  be  the  result  of  thy  researches.  And  what- 
ever it  may  be,  come  and  give  me  an  account 
of  it,  that  we  may  praise  God  together." 

Here,  without  saying  any  tiling  more,  they 
separated,  one  of  them  returned  to  whence 
they  came,  and  the  other  went  on  to  the  tem- 
ple, which  was  not  further  off  than  a  stone's 
throw. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

WHO  would  ever,  a  few  hours  before,  have 
told  Renzo,  that  in  the  ardor  of  his  research, 
at  the  beginning  of  the  most  doubtful  moments, 
and  the  most  decisive  ones,  his  heart  would 
have  been  divided  between  Lucia  and  Don 
Rodrigo  ?  Still  the  thing  was  so.  His  figure 
mingled  itself  with  all  the  precious  and  terri- 
ble images  that  hope  and  fear  alternately 
placed  before  him  in  his  enterprise.  The  words 
he  heard  at  the  foot  of  that  bed,  were  balancing 
between  the  yes  and  the  no  that  were  strug- 
ling  in  his  mind,  and  he  could  not  conclude  a 
prayer  for  the  happy  termination  of  the  great 
trial,  without  uniting  to  it  that  which  he  had 
begun  there,  when  toe  sound  of  the  bell  had 
interrupted  it. 

The  octangular  temple  which  rises,  elevated 
from  the  soil  by  a  few  degrees,  in  the  midst  of 
the  lazaretto,  was,  in  its  first  construction, 
open  on  all  sides,  without  any  other  support 
than  pilasters  and  columns,  a  perfectly  open 
building  indeed.  Every  front  presented  an 
arch  between  two  columns ;  inside  there  was  a 
circular  portico,  which  went  round  what  was 
the  church,  composed  only  of  eight  arches,  sus- 
tained by  pilasters,  answering  to  those  fronts, 
and  surmounted  by  a  small  cupola,  so  that  the 
altar  erected  in  the  centre,  could  be  seen  from 
every  window  of  the  rooms  of  the  enclosure, 
and  almost  from  every  point  of  the  place.  Now, 
the  edifice  being  converted  to  an  entirely  dif- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


231 


ferent  use,  the  spaces  in  the  fronts  are  walled 
up,  but  the  ancient  architecture,  having  re- 
mained entire,  indicates  plainly  enough  the  old 
state  and  intention  of  the  building. 

Renzo  had  scarce  moved,  when  he  saw  fa- 
ther Felice  appear  in  the  portico  of  the  temple, 
and  so  to  the  central  arch,  on  the  side  fronting 
the  city,  before  which  the  assembly  was  placed 
below,  in  the  main  passage,  and  immediately 
from  his  countenance  he  perceived  that  he 
had  commenced  his  discourse. 

He  went  round  until  he  got  behind  the  au- 
ditors as  was  suggested  to  him ;  and  there  re- 
mained perfectly  quiet,  examining  the  whole 
place,but  perceived  nothing  but  a  great  number 
of  heads,  as  if,  so  to  speak,  the  place  was  paved 
with  them.  In  the  centre,  some  of  them  were 
covered  with  handkerchiefs,  or  veils ;  there 
he  fixed  his  eyes  with  great  attention,  but  not 
succeeding  in  discovering  any  thing  more,  he 
turned  then  to  where  all  were  looking.  He 
was  touched  and  moved  by  the  venerable  figure 
of  the  speaker,  and  with  as  much  attention  as 
he  could  spare  from  the  absorbing  subject  that 
engrossed  him,  he  heard  this  part  of  the  solemn 
discourse. 

"  Let  us  give  a  thought  to  the  thousands 
and  thousands  who  have  gone  from  hence  in 
that  direction,"  and  pointing  with  his  finger 
behind  his  back,  he  indicated  the  gate  that 
leads  to  the  cemetery  of  San  Gregono,  which 
at  that  time  was  one  entire  grave.  "  Let  us 
cast  a  look  around  upon  the  thousands  and 
thousands  who  remain  here,  too  uncertain  how 
they  are  to  go  away ;  let  us  look  at  ourselves, 
so  few,  who  have  recovered.  Blessed  be  the 
Lord !  blessed  in  justice,  blessed  in  mercy  ! 
blessed  in  death,  blessed  in  health  !  blessed  in 
the  choice  he  has  been  pleased  to  make  of  us  ! 
Oh !  why  has  he  chosen  us,  my  children,  if 
not  to  preserve  a  small  people  corrected  by 
affliction  and  warmed  by  gratitude  ?  if  not  to 
the  end,  that  feeling  now  more  lively  that  life 
is  a  gift  from  him,  we  may  value  it  as  a  thing 
given  to  us  by  him,  and  that  we  may  employ 
it  in  works  that  can  be  offered  up  to  him  ?  if 
not  to  the  end  that  the  remembrance  of  our 
sufferings  may  make  us  compassionate  and 
charitable  to  our  neighbors.'  May  those,  in 
the  meantime,  in  whose  company  we  have 
suffered,  hoped,  and  feared  so  much,  amongst 
whom  we  leave  friends  and  relations,  and 
who  indeed  are  all  our  brethren,  those 
amongst  them  who  shall  see  us  pass  through 
the  midst  of  them,  whilst  perhaps  they 
may  receive  some  relief  from  the  thought 
that  others  go  recovered  from  hence,  may  they 
be  edified  by  our  conduct.  God  forbid  that 
they  should  perceive  in  us  a  clamorous  joy,  a 
carnal  satisfaction  at  having  escaped  that  death 
with  which  they  are  yet  struggling.  May  they 
see  that  we  go  hence  thanking  God  for  our- 
selves, and  praying  to  him  for  them,  and  be 
able  to  say, — even  when  they  are  away  from 
here,  they  will  remember  and  continue  to  pray 
for  us  poor  creatures.  Let  us  commence  from 
this  journey,  from  the  very  first  steps  we  are 


about  to  take,  a  life  all  charity  Let  those  who 
are  restored  to  their  ancient  vigor  lend  a  pater- 
nal arm  to  the  weak — let  the  young  support 
the  aged ;  you  who  are  left  without  children, 
look,  see  around  ye,  how  many  are  left  with- 
out parents  !  be  such  to  them  !  and  your  chari- 
ty, covering  your  sins,  will  soften  your  sorrows 
also." 

Here  a  dull  murmur  of  groans  and  sobs,which 
was  increasing  in  the  assembly,  was  at  once 
suspended,  when  the  preacher  was  seen  to 
place  a  cord  around  his  neck,  and  fall  on  his 
knees.  In  profound  silence  they  listened  to 
what  he  had  still  to  say. 

"For  me,"  said  he,  "and  for  all  my  bre- 
thren, if,  beyond  any  deserts  of  ours,  we  have 
been  selected  for  the  high  privilege  of  serving 
Christ  in  you,  humbly  do  I  ask  you  pardon  it 
we  have  not  worthily  filled  our  ministry.  If 
sloth,  if  the  indocility  of  the  flesh,  have  made 
us  less  attentive  to  your  necessities,  less  ready 
to  your  wants :  if  an  unjust  impatience,  a  cul- 
pable weariness,  have  sometimes  led  us  to  put 
on  a  severe  or  displeased  countenance  to  you, 
if  at  any  time  the  miserable  thought  that  you 
stood  in  need  of  us,  has  led  us  to  treat  you 
without  the  humility  that  it  became  us  to  ob- 
serve ;  if  our  weakness  has  drawn  us  into  any 
act  that  has  been  offensive  to  you,  pardon  us  ! 
and  so  may  God  remit  to  you  your  trespasses, 
and  bless  you."  Having  made  an  ample  sign 
of  the  holy  cross  to  his  audience,  he  rose. 

We  have  been  able  to  give,  if  not  the  pre- 
cise words,  a  sketch  and  the  sense  at  least  of 
what  he  really  did  say;  but  the  manner  in  which 
he  delivered  them,  is  a  thing  not  to  be  de- 
scribed. It  was  the  manner  of  a  man,  who 
called  it  a  privilege  to  serve  those  infected 
with  the  plague,  for  he  held  it  to  be  one,  who 
confessed  that  he  had  not  worthily  correspond- 
ed to  his  duty,  because  he  felt  that  he  had  not 
done  so,  who  asked  for  pardon,  because  he  was 
persuaded  he  stood  in  need  of  it.  But  they, 
who  had  seen  the  capuchins  occupied  entirely 
in  their  service,  who  had  seen  so  many  of  them 
die,  and  he  who  was  now  speaking  in  the 
name  of  them  all,  always  the  first  in  fatigue, 
as  in  authority,  except  when  he  too  was  in  a 
dying  state,  it  may  be  supposed  with  what  sobs 
and  tears  such  a  proposition  was  received. — 
The  admirable  friar  then  lifted  a  large  cross 
which  was  against  a  pillar,  raised  it  before  him, 
left  liis  sandals  upon  the  exterior  edge  of  the 
portico,  descended  the  steps  of  the  temple,  and 
passed  through  the  crowd,  which  reverently 
made  room  for  him,  to  put  himself  at  their  head. 
Renzo,  as  much  affected  as  if  he  had  been 
one  of  those  of  whom  that  singular  pardon  had 
been  asked,  drew  further  back,  and  placed 
himself  on  the  side  of  one  of  the  cabins,  ana 
there  he  remained  waiting,  half  concealed, 
with  his  person  behind  and  his  head  forwards, 
his  eyes  wide  open  and  a  strong  palpitation  at 
his  heart :  but  with  a  particular  sort  of  confi- 
dence, springing,  I  suppose,  from  the  emotions 
which  had  been  excited  in  him  by  the  discourse, 
and  the  spectacle  of  such  universal  feeling. 


232 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


wan,  inspiring  compunction  and  courage  toge- 
ther. His  steps  were  slow  but  firm,  as  ii'  lie  was 
allowing  for  the  weakness  of  others,  and  in  all, 
he  was  as  a  man  to  whom  those  cares  and  too 
abundant  troubles,  lent  the  force  to  sustain 
himself  in  those  inseparable  from  his  charge. 
The  oldest  children  came  immediately  after 
him,  the  greater  part  of  them  barefooted — 
lew  of  them  entirely  clothed,  some  quite  in 
their  under  garments.  Then  came  the  wo- 
men, nearly  all  of  them  leading  in  their  hand 
a  little  girl,  and  alternately  singing  the  mise- 
rere :  and  the  feeble  sound  of  their  voices,  the 
paleness  and  langor  of  their  countenances  were 
things  to  fill  with  compassion  the  mind  of  any 
one  who  was  there  as  a  simple  spectator. — 
But  Renzo,  looked,  examined,  from  file  to  file, 
from  face  to  face,  without  omitting  one ;  for 
the  slow  movement  of  the  procession  gave  him 
sufficient  leisure  to  do  so.  They  passed  and 
passed,  and  he  looked  and  looked,  but  it  was 
all  for  nothing,  he  cast  a  look  at  those  who 
remained  behind,  now  in  diminished  numbers, 
there  were  but  few  files  of  them,  the  last  caine, 
all  were  passed,  and  he  recognized  none  of 
them.  With  his  arms  hung  down,  and  with 
his  heiid  leaning  upon  one  of  his  shoulders, 
his  eye  followed  the  procession  of  females, 
whilst  the  line  of  men  was  passing  before  him, 
A  new  hope  sprung  up  within  him  when  he 
saw  a  few  cars  coming  on  in  the  rear,  which 
bore  the  convalescents  not  able  to  walk.  Then 
the  women  came  last,  and  the  train  proceeded 
so  slowly  that  Renzo  could  with  the  same  ease 
look  at  these,  without  missing  one  of  them. 
But  what  ihen  ?  He  examined  the  first  car, 
the  second,  the  third,  and  the  rest,  with  the 
same  result,  to  the  very  last,  behind  which 
came  no  body  but  another  capuchin,  with  a 
serious  aspect,  and  a  staif  in  his  hand  as  the 
regulator  of  the  convoy.  It  was  that  father 
Michele  whom  we  have  said  was  appointed 
coadjutor  in  the  government  of  the  la/aretto 
with  father  Felice. 

Thus  fled  all  the  sweet  hope  he  had  cherish- 
ed, and  not  only  carried  away  all  the  comfort 
he  had  felt,  but  as  it  frequently  occurs,  left 
him  in  a  worse  condition  than  at  first.  Now 
the  next  most  fortunate  contingencies  was  to 
find  Lucia  sick,  and  thus  with  increased  ap- 
prehension added  to  his  hope,  he  clung  with 
all  the  power  of  his  mind  to  that  sad  anu  weak 
thread,  and  directed  his  steps  to  the  quarter 
whence  the  procession  had  come.  When  he 
reached  the  foot  of  the  little  temple,  he  knelt 
upon  the  last  step,  and  there  put  up  a  prayer 
to  God  ;  or  to  speak  plainer,  a  crowd  of  con- 
fused words,  interrupted  phrases,  exclama- 
tions, instances,  complaints,  and  promises ; 
one  of  those  addresses  that  are  never  made 
to  men,  who  have  not  intelligence  enough  to 
comprehend  them,  nor  patience  enough  to 
listen  to  them.  Men  are  not  great  enough  to 
ieel  compassion  without  its  wearying  them. 


He  rose,  somewhat  encouraged,  went  round 
the  temple,  and  found  himself  in  the  other  pas- 
sage which  he  had  not  yet  seen,  and  which 
led  to  the  other  gate  :  after  going  a  short  dis- 
tance, he  saw  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  the 
palisade  of  which  the  friar  had  spoken  to  him, 
but  full  of  gaps  and  openings,  exactly  as  he 
had  told  him ;  he  entered  one  of  them,  and 
found  himself  in  the  quarter  of  the  women. — 
He  had  scarce  set  foot  into  it,  when  he  saw 
a  little  bell  on  the  ground,  one  of  those  which 
the  monatti  wore  on  their  feet,  with  its  straps 
attached  to  it ;  it  came  into  his  head  that  this 
instrument  might  serve  him  as  a  sort  of  pass- 
port there,  he  picked  it  up,  observed  if  any 
one  was  looking  at  him,  and  fixed  it  on  his 
foot.  And  immediately  he  began  his  research- 
es, which,  on  account  of  the  multiplicity  alone 
of  objects,  was  extremely  difficult,  even  if  they 
had  been  less  painful :  he  began  to  run  over 
with  his  eye,  and  even  to  contemplate  new 
scenes  of  wo,  in  some  places  similar  to  those 
he  had  seen,  in  others  so  dissimilar,  that  al- 
though the  calamity  was  the  same,  it  was  a 
different  kind  of  suffering,  another  kind  of 
languishing,  complaints  of  a  different  kind,  an 
evil  supported  in  a  different  way,  another  kind 
of  pitying  and  of  being  assisted  alternately ;  it 
was,  to  an  observer,  another  kind  of  distress, 
and  a  different  kind  of  apprehension. 

He  had  proceeded,  I  know  not  how  far, with- 
out any  thing  occurring,  when  he  heard  some 
one  exclaim  behind  him,  oh!  apparently  ad- 
dressed to  himself.  He  turned,  and  saw  at  a 
distance,  a  commissary,  who  raised  his  hands, 
making  a  sign  to  him,  and  calling  out,  "  there 
in  the  rooms  they  want  help,  here  they  have 
scarce  finished  sweeping." 

Renzo  immediately  perceived  who  he  was 
taken  for,  and  that  the  bell  was  the  cause  of 
the  mistake  :  he  called  himself  a  fool  for  hav- 
ing thought  only  of  the  difficulties  that  badge 
might  have  enabled  him  to  avoid,  and  not  of 
those  it  might  draw  him  into,  but  thought  in- 
stantly of  how  he  should  disembarrass  himself 
of 'it.  He  nodded  with  his  head  hastily,  as 
much  as  to  say  he  had  heard  and  would  obey, 
and  withdrew  from  his  sight,  amongst  the 
cabins. 

Whett  he  conceived  himself  far  enough  off, 
he  thought  about  taking  the  bell  from  his  foot, 
and  in  order  to  do  it  without  observation,  he 
entered  a  narrow  place  betwixt  two  poor  ca- 
bins,which  stood  with  their  backs  to  each  other. 
Stooping  to  loosen  the  latches,  with  his  head 
touching  the  straw  back  of  one  of  the  cabins, 
a  voice  struck  his  ear,— oh,  heavens  !  is  it  pos- 
sible ?  His  whole  soul  went  to  his  ear.,  his 
breathing  was  suspended. — Yes  !  yes  !  it  is  the 
same  voice!  "Afraid  of  whom?"  said  that 
sweet  voice,  "  we  have  gone  through  some- 
thing more  than  a  storm.  He  who  has  protected 
us  until  now,  will  continue  to  protect  us." 

If  Renzo  did  not  cry  out,  it  was  not  from 
fear  of  discovering  himself,  it  was  because  his 
voice  was  gone.  His  knees  failed  him,  a  cloud 
came  over  his  eyes ;  but  this  was  on  the  first 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


instant,  at  the  second,  he  was  erect,  wide 
awake,  and  more  vigorous  than  ever :  in  three 
skips  he  was  round  the  cabin,  at  the  door,  saw 
her  who  had  spoken,  and  saw  her  bending  over 
a  small  bed.  She  turned  round  at  the  noise, 
looked,  thought  it  was  a  vision,  that  she  was 
dreaming,  looked  more  attentively,  and  cried 
out,  "  oh,  blessed  Lord !" 

"  Lucia !  I  have  found  you !  I  find  you  !  it  is 
you  yourself!  you  are  alive!"  exclaimed 
Renzo,  advancing,  trembling  all  over. 

"Oh,  blessed  Lord!"  replied  Lucia,  trem- 
bling still  more  violently.  "  You  ?  What  is 
this  ?  in  what  way  ?  Why  ?  The  plague  !" 

"  I  have  had  it.    And  you — !" 

"  Ah,  I  have  had  it  too.  And  my  mother — ?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  her,  because  she  is  at  Pas- 
turo,  I  believe  however  she  is  well.  But  you — 
how  pale  you  are  yet !  how  weak  you  seem  ! 
Cured  though,  are  you  cured  ?" 

"The  Lord  has  been  pleased  to  leave  me 
here  still.  Ah,  Renzo  !  why  are  you  here  ?" 

"  Why  ?"  said  Renzo.  drawing  still  nearer 
to  her.  "  Do  you  ask  me  why  ?  What  could  I 
come  here  for  ?  Is  it  necessary  for  me  to  tell 
you  ?  Who  have  I  to  think  of?  Is  not  my  name 
Renzo,  eh  ?  And  is  not  yours  Lucia  ?" 

"Ah,  what  do  you  say  ?  What  are  you  talk- 
ing of.  But  did  not  my  mother  get  a  letter 
written  to  you  ?" 

"Yes,  there  was  too  much  written  to  me. 
Pretty  things  to  write  to  a  poor  unfortunate 
young  man,  full  of  tribulation,  and  wandering 
about ;  to  a  young  man,  at  any  rate  that  had 
never  displeased  you." 

"  But  Renzo !  Renzo  !  since  you  know — 
why  did  you  come  ?  Why  ?" 

"  Why  did  I  come  ?  Oh,  Lucia,  why  did  I 
come,  d"o  you  ask  me  ?  After  so  many  pro- 
mises !  Are  not  we  ourselves  ?  Dont  you  re- 
member any  more  ?  What  was  there  wanting." 

"  Oh,  Lord !"  exclaimed  Lucia  sorrowfully, 
clasping  her  hands,  and  raising  her  eyes  to 
Heaven,  "  Why  didst  thou  not  do  me  the  favor 
to  take  me  to  thyself— !  Oh,  Renzo  ?  what  is 
it  you  have  done  ?  See  now,  I  was  beginning 
to  hope  that — in  time — thou  wouldst  have  for- 
gotten me — " 

"A  pretty  hope  indeed!  pretty  things  to 
tell  me  to  my  face  !" 

"  Ah,  what  have  you  done !  and  in  this 
place !  amidst  so  much  misery !  amidst  so 
many  spectacles  !  here,  where  people  do  no- 
thing but  die,  you  have  been  able — !" 

"Those  who  die,  we  must  pray  to  God  for, 
and  hope  they  will  go  to  a  good  place ;  but  it 
is  not  just,  because  that  is  so,  that  those  who 
live  are  to  go  into  desperation — " 

"  But  Renzo  !  Renzo !  you  do  not  think  of 
what  you  are  saying.  A  vow  to  the  Madon- 
na!— A  vow !" 

"  And  I  tell  you  such  promises  are  good  for 
nothing." 

"  Oh,  Lord !  what  do  you  say  ?  Where  have 
you  been,  all  this  time  ?  Who  have  you  kept 
company  with?  How  you  talk?" 

"  I  talk  like  a  good  Christian,  and  I  think 
30 


better  of  the  Madonna  than  you  seem  to  do ; 
for  I  dont  think  she  wants  any  vows  that  are 
to  injure  others.  If  the  Madonna  had  spoken, 
oh,  then  to  be  sure  !  But  how  has  the  thing 
been  ?  Just  an  idea  of  your  own.  Do  you 
know  what  you  onght  to  have  promised  to  the 
Madonna  ?  You  should  have  promised  her  that 
the  first  daughter  we  should  have,  you  would 
call  her  Maria,  this  I  am  ready  to  promise  her 
too.  Such  things  do  much  more  honor  to  the 
Madonna,  that  is  a  kind  of  devotion  that  is  rea- 
sonable and  hurts  nobody." 

"  No,  no,  dont  talk  so ;  you  dont  know  what 
you  are  talking  about.  You  dont  know  what 
it  is  to  make  a  vow,  you  have  never  been  in 
that  necessity,  you  have  never  experienced  it. 
Leave  me  !  leave  me  !  for  the  love  of  Heaven." 

And  she  turned  away  impetuously  from  him, 
towards  the  bed. 

"Lucia,"  said  he,  without  moving,  "  tell  me 
at  least,  tell  me,  if  it  was  not  for  this  reason — 
would  you  be  the  same  to  me  ?" 

"  Oh,  man,  without  any  compassion !"  an- 
swered Lucia,  turning  round,  and  restraining 
her  tears  with  difficulty,  "  if  you  could  make 
me  say  useless  words,  words  that  it  would  be 
wrong  for  me  to  say,  words  that  perhaps  would 
be  sinful,  would  you  be  satisfied  ?  Go  ;  oh,  go ! 
forget  me,  we  were  not  destined  for  each  other ! 
We  shall  meet  in  Heaven,  we  have  not  long: 
to  stay  in  this  world.  Go,  have  my  mother  in- 
formed that  I  have  been  cured,  that  even  here 
God  has  aided  me,  that  I  have  found  a  good 
soul,  this  good  lady,  who  has  been  a  mother  to 
me  :  tell  her  that  I  hope  she  will  be  preserved 
from  this  evil,  and  that  we  shall  see  each  other 
again,  when  God  pleases,  and  as  he  pleases. 
Go,  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  and  think  of  me 
no  more,  except  when  you  pray  to  God." 

And  like  one  who  has  nothing  to  say,  and 
will  hear  nothing  more,  who  seeks  to  avoid  a 
danger,  she  drew  still  nearer  to  the  bed,  on 
which  laid  the  lady  of  whom  she  had  spoken. 

"  Listen,  Lucia,  listen  !"  said  Renzo,  with- 
out however  approaching  her. 

"  No,  no,  go  for  charity's  sake  ! " 

"  Listen,  Father  Christopher — !" 

"  How  ?" 

"Is  here." 

"  Here  ?  Where  ?  How  do  you  know  it  ?" 

"  I  have  spoken  to  him  a  short  time  ago.  I 
have  been  some  time  with  him,  and  a  holy  man 
of  his  quality,  it  seems  to  me — " 

"  He  is  here !  to  assist  the  poor  sick  cer- 
tainly. But  he  ?  has  he  had  the  plague  ?" 

"  Ah,  Lucia  !  I  am  afraid,  I  fear  too  much — " 
and  whilst  Renzo  was  endeavoring  to  utter 
what  was  so  painful  to  him,  and  which  would 
be  equally  so  to  Lucia,  she  had  again  left  the 
bed,  and  had  approached  him,  "  I  fear  he  has 
it  upon  him  now  !" 

"  Oh,  poor  holy  man,  but  what  do  I  call  him 
poor  man  for  ?  Poor  we !  How  is  he  ?  is  he  in 
bed  ?  is  he  assisted  ?" 

"  He  goes  about,  and  assists  others ;  but  if 
you  was  to  see  him,  the  face  that  he  has,  and 
now  he  totters !  I  have  seen  so  many  persons 


234 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


with  it,  that  unfortunately — one  cannot  mis- 
take!" 

"Oh!  he  is  here!" 

"Here,  and  a  short  way  off,  not  farther  than 
from  your  house  to  mine — if  you  remember — ! " 

"  Oh,  most  holy  virgin  !" 

"  Well,  a  little  farther.  You  may  suppose  if 
we  have  talked  of  you !  He  has  told  me 
things — and  if  you  only  knew  what  he  has 
shown  me  !  You  shall  near.  But  first  I  will 
tell  you  what  he  said  first  to  me,  with  his  own 
mouth.  He  said  I  was  in  the  right  to  come 
and  seek  for  you  here,  and  that  the  Lord  is 
pleased  that  a  young  man  should  conduct  him- 
self so,  and  that  he  would  help  me  to  find  you, 
as  the  fact  has  turned  out  to  ne.  But  indeed 
he  is  a  saint !  so  that,  you  see ! " 

"  But  if  he  did  talk  so,  it  is  because  he  does 
not  know — " 

"  What  would  you  have  him  know  of  the 
things  you  have  done  just  out  of  your  own 
head,  without  any  rule,  and  without  asking  any 
one's  advice  ?  An  excellent  man,  a  man  of 
judgment,  like  him,  never  supposes  any  thing 
of  the  kind.  But  what  he  showed  to  me !" 
And  here  he  related  the  visit  to  the  cabin. 
Lucia,  although  her  senses  and  her  mind  had 
during  her  residence  there  been  accustomed  to 
the  strongest  impressions,  was  nevertheless 
filled  with  horror  and  compassion. 

"  And  even  there,"  continued  Renzo,  "  he 
has  spoken  like  a  saint ;  he  said  that  the  Lord 
perhaps  intended  to  be  gracious  to  that  poor 
creature — I  cant  give  any  other  name  now — 
that  he  waits  until  a  favorable  opportunity 
arises,  but  wishes  us  both  to  pray  together  for 
him — together !  do  you  understand  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes.  We  will  pray  for  him ;  every 
where  where  the  Lord  keeps  us,  he  can  unite 
our  prayers." 

"  But  if  I  tell  you  his  very  words — !" 

"  But,  Renzo,  he  does  not  know — " 

"But  dont  you  understand  that  when  it 
is  a  saint  that  speaks,  it  is  the  Lord  that 
makes  him  speak,  and  that  he  would  not  have 
talked  that  way,  if  it  had  not  been  right  for 
him  to  do  so  ?  And  the  soul  of  that  poor  crea- 
ture ?  I  have  prayed  earnestly,  and  will  pray 
for  him.  I  have  prayed  with  all  my  heart,  just 
as  if  he  had  been  my  brother.  But  what  do  you 
think  will  become  of  him,  the  poor  creature, 
if  this  matter  is  not  settled  here,  if  the  evil  he 
has  done  is  not  repaired  ?  Now  if  you  do  what 
is  right,  then  all  will  be  as  it  was  at  first.  What 
has  been  has  been ;  he  has  had  his  punishment 
here — !" 

"  No,  Renzo,  no ;  God  does  not  wish  us  to 
do  wrong,  that  he  may  do  an  act  of  mercy : 
leave  it  to  him  this  time.  Our  duty  is  to  pray 
to  him.  If  I  had  died  that  night,  would  not 
God  have  been  able  to  pardon  him  afterwards  ? 
And  as  I  did  not  die,  and  was  delivered — " 

"And  your  mother,  that  poor  Agnes  that 
always  loved  me  so  much,  and  was  so  anxious 
to  see  us  husband  and  wife,  has  not  she  too 
told  you  it  was  a  foolish  notion  ?  she,  that  at 
other  times  has  set  you  right,  for  in  certain 


cases  she  has  a  much  better  head  than  vour- 
self— " 

"  My  mother !  Do  you  think  my  mother 
would  advise  me  to  break  a  vow !  But,  Ren- 
zo you  are  out  of  yourself." 

"  Oh,  I'll  show  you  how  it  is,  the  fact  is  you 
women  know  nothing  about  such  things. — 
Father  Christopher  told  me  to  return  and  tell 
him  if  I  should  find  you.  I  shall  go,  let  us 
hear  him,  whatever  he  says — " 

"  Yes,  yes,  go  to  that  holy  man,  tell  him 
that  I  pray  for  him,  and  that  he  must  pray  for 
me,  that  I  am  very,  very  much  in  want  of  his 
prayers  !  But  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  for  your 
soul's  sake,  for  my  soul's  sake,  dont  come 
back  any  more  here  to  do  me  any  ill,  to—- 
tempt me.  Father  Christopher,  he  will  know 
how  to  explain  things  to  you,and  to  bring  you  to 
yourself  again.  He  will  bring  peace  into  your 
heart  again." 

"  Peace  into  my  heart !  Oh  !  put  that  out 
of  your  head  !  You  made  them  write  me  such 
stuff  as  that,  and  I  know  how  much  I  suffered 
on  that  account,  and  now  you  have  the  heart 
to  tell  it  to  me  to  my  face.  And  I  tell  you  now, 
plainly  and  roundly,  that  I  never  will  put  peace 
into  my  heart.  You  want  to  forget  me,  and 
I  dont  want  to  forget  you,  and  I  tell  you  now, 
only  just  see,  that  if  you  drive  me  out  of  my 
senses  I  shall  never  get  into  them  again. — 
My  trade  may  go  to  the  devil,  and  so  may  good 
behavior.  You  want  me  to  go  mad  all  the 
rest  of  my  life,  and  I  will  go  mad.  And  that 
poor  man  !  God  knows  if  I  have  not  pardoned 
him  in  my  heart,  but  you — do  you  want  me 
then  to  think  as  long  as  I  live  that  but  for 
him  ? — Lucia  you  have  told  me  to  forget  you, 
have  told  me  to  forget  you  !  How  am  I  to  do 
it  ?  Who  do  you  suppose  I  was  thinking  about 
all  this  time  ? — And  after  so  many  things,  af- 
ter so  many  promises  !  What  have  I  done  to 
you  since  we  parted  ?  Do  you  treat  me  so, 
because  I  have  suffered  so  much  ?  because  I 
have  been  unfortunate  ?  because  the  people  in 
the  world  have  persecuted  me  ?  because  I  have 
passed  such  a  long  time  from  home,  sad,  and 
far  1'rom  you  ?  Why,  the  first  moment  when 
I  could,  am  I  come  here  to  look  for  you  ?" 

Lucia, when  her  tears  permitted  her  to  speak, 
exclaimed,  whilst  she  clasped  her  hands,  and 
raised  her  eyes  to  Heaven  swimming  in  tears, 
"  oh,  most  holy  virgin,  aid  me  !  You  know 
that  since  that  night,  I  have  never  passed  such 
a  moment  as  this.  Then  you  brought  me  suc- 
cor, now  help  me  likewise." 

"  Yes,  Lucia,  you  do  well  to  invoke  the 
Madonna,  but  how  can  you  think  that  she, 
who  is  so  good,  who  is  the  mother  of  mercy, 
can  have  any  pleasure  in  making  us  suffer — 
me  at  least — for  just  a  word  that  you  let  out 
when  you  did  not  know  what  you  was  saying  ? 
Do  you  think  she  aided  you  then,  just  to  cre- 
ate all  this  trouble  afterwards  ?  But  if  this 
was  an  excuse,  if  indeed  I  am  become  hateful 
to  you, — tell  me  so — speak  plainly." 

"  For  charity's  sake,  Renzo,  for  charity,  for 
the  love  of  your  poor  dead,  have  done,  have 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


235 


done,  and  dont  kill  me.  It  would  not  be  do- 
ing right.  Go  to  father  Christopher,  recom- 
mend me  to  him,  and  dont  come  back  here, 
dont  come  back." 

"  I'm  going,  but  dont  suppose  I  shall  not 
come  back,  I  should  turn  back  if  it  was  to  the 
end  of  the  world,  to  be  sure  I  should  turn 
back."  And  he  went  away. 

Lucia  went  to  seat  herself,  or  rather  she  let 
herself  sink  on  the  ground  near  the  bed,  and 
placing  her  head  on  it,  continued  weeping. — 
The  female,  who  to  that  moment  had  kept  her 
eyes  and  ears  open  without  uttering  a  word, 
now  asked  who  that  apparition  was,  and  what 
all  this  debate  and  %-ying  was  about.  But 
perhaps  the  reader  desires  to  know  who  she 
was,  and  to  satisfy  him,  we  must  say  a  few 
words. 

She  was  a  merchant's  wife,  in  easy  circum- 
stances, about  thirty  years  old.  In  the  space  of  a 
few  days  she  had  witnessed  in  her  own  house 
the  death  of  her  husband  and  all  her  children  : 
soon  after,  being  seized  with  the  disorder  her- 
self, she  was  taken  to  the  lazaretto  and  placed 
in  the  cabin,  at  the  time  when  Lucia, — after 
having  overcome  without  being  aware  of  it, 
the  height  of  the  complaint,  and  having  chang- 
ed, also  without  being  aware  of  it,  various 
companions, — was  beginning  to  come  to  her- 
self again,  and  to  recover  the  consciousness  she 
had  lost  from  the  first  attack  of  the  plague, 
whilst  she  was  still  at  Don  Ferrante's.  The 
cabin  had  only  room  for  two,  and  betwixt 
these  two  afflicted,  abandoned,  frightened  fe- 
males, left  alone  amidst  such  a  multitude,  an 
intimacy  and  an  affection  soon  arose,  such  as  a 
long  ordinary  acquaintance  could  scarcely  have 
produced.  Lucia  soon  found  herself  well 
enough  to  be  serviceable  to  her  companion, 
who  nad  been  excessively  ill,  and  now  that 
she  had  passed  the  danger,  they  became  com- 
panions, and  comforted  and  watched  each 
other  by  turns  ;  they  had  promised  not  to  leave 
the  lazaretto,  until  both  could  do  so,  and  had 
indeed  talked  of  never  separating  afterwards. 
The  merchant's  widow  having  left  her  in  the 
custody  of  her  brother,  one  ot  the  commissa- 
ries of  the  tribunal  of  health,  her  house,  to- 
gether with  the  warehouse,  and  the  money 
chest,  all  well  furnished,  found  herself  the  sole 
and  sorrowful  mistress  of  more  than  she  want- 
ed to  live  comfortably  with,  and  therefore  was 
desirous  of  having  Lucia  with  her  as  a  daugh- 
ter or  sister,  to  which,  it  may  be  supposed  she 
assented,  grateful  both  to  her  and  to  Provi- 
dence, but  only  until  she  could  get  intelli- 
fence  of  her  mother,  and  could  learn,  as  she 
oped  to  do,  what  her  pleasure  was.  As  to 
the  rest,  with  her  usual  reserve,  she  had  never 
said  a  word,  neither  of  her  matrimonial  en- 
gagement, nor  of  her  other  extraordinary  ad- 
ventures. But  now,  her  affections  having  been 
greatly  moved,  she  had  as  strong  an  inclination 
to  give  vent  to  her  feelings,  as  the  other  had 
to  listen  to  her ;  and  pressing  her  right  hand 
betwixt  her  own,  she  entered  into  a  full  expla- 
nation,without  any  interruption,save  what  arose 


from  the  sobs  that  accompanied  her  sad  story. 
Renzo,  in  the  meantime,  proceeded  in  haste 
to  the  quarters  of  the  good  friar.  With  a  little 
attention,  and  not  without  a  few  mistakes,  he 
finally  got  there.  He  found  the  cabin,  but  he 
was  not  in  it ;  searching  and  peeping  around, 
however,  he  found  him  in  a  sort  of  tent,  bent 
down  almost  with  his  face  to  the  ground,  com- 
forting one  who  was  dying.  He  stopped,  and 
waited  in  silence.  In  a  short  time  he  saw  him 
close  the  eves  of  the  sufferer,  and  place  him- 
self on  his  knees  to  pray  a  moment.  He  then 
rose,  came  forwards,  and  went  towards  Renzo. 

"  Oh !"  said  the  friar,perceiving  him,"well !" 

"  She  is  here  !     I  have  found  ner !  " 

"  In  what  state  ?" 

"  Cured,  or  at  least  out  of  bed." 

"The  Lord  be  praised!" 

"  But — "  said  Renzo,  when  he  was  nigh 
enough  to  him  to  speak  in  an  under  tone — 
'•  there  is  another  difficulty." 

"  What  dost  thou  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that — your  reverence  knows  very 
well  what  a  good  young  woman  she  is,  but 
sometimes  she  has  got  her  own  notions  in  her 
head.  After  so  many  promises,  after  all  that 
you  know,  now  she  says  that  she  cant  be  my 
wife,  for  she  says — how  can  I  tell  ?  that  in  that 
night  when  she  was  so  frightened,  she  got  her 
head  somehow  warmed,  and  somehow  or  other 
devoted  herself  to  the  Madonna.  A  prepos- 
terous thing,  isnt  it  so  ?  All  very  well  for 
those  who  know  how  to  do  it,  and  who  have 
occasion  to  do  it,  but  for  us  common  people 
who  dont  know  how  to  do  such  things,  isnt  it 
true  that  they  are  things  that  are  not  binding  ?" 

"  Is  she  very  far  from  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  a  few  steps  beyond  the  church." 

"  Wait  for  me  here  a  moment,"  said  the  friar, 
"and  then  we  will  go  there  together." 

"  Your  reverence  means  that  you  will  make 
her  understand  that — " 

"  I  know  not,  my  son,  I  must  first  hear  what 
she  has  got  to  say." 

"  I  comprehend,"  said  Renzo,  and  stood  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  and  his  arms 
crossed  on  his  breast,  chewing  the  cud  of  the 
doubt  he  was  condemned  to  remain  in.  The 
friar  went  again  to  look  for  father  Vittore,  re- 
quested him  again  to  supply  his  place,  entered 
his  cabin,  come  out  of  it  with  his  basket  on 
his  arm,  and  turning  to  Renzo,  said,  "  let  us 
go."  Preceding  the  youth,  he  directed  his 
steps  to  the  cabin,  where,  some  time  before, 
they  had  entered  together.  This  time,  he  left 
Renzo  without,  but  entered  himself,  and  after 
a  moment  appeared  again,  and  said,  "  nothing ! 
let  us  pray ;  let  us  pray." 

Then  continued,  "  snow  me  the  place." 

Without  further  delay,  they  now  proceeded. 

The  heavens  were  now  beginning  to  grow 
darker  and  darker,  and  announced  a  certain 
and  not  far  distant  storm.  Repeated  lightnings 
flashed  through  the  increased  darkness,  and 
gleamed  with  an  instantaneous  brightness  upon 
the  long  stretched  roofs,  and  the  arches  of 
the  porticos,  the  cupola  of  the  temple,  and  the 


236 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


low  tops  of  the  cabins,  and  the  thunder  burst- 
ing forth  with  sudden  explosions,  went  rolling 
on  from  one  region  of  the  sky  to  another.  The 
young  man  went  on  before,  marking  the  way, 
his  mind  agitated  by  unquiet  expectation,  forc- 
ing himself  to  slacken  his  pace,  to  accommodate 
it  to  that  of  his  aged  follower,  who,  worn  out 
with  fatigue,  oppressed  by  his  disorder,  and  by 
the  atmosphere,  got  on  painfully,  raising  from 
time  to  time  his  emaciated  face  to  heaven,  as 
if  he  was  seeking  a  freer  respiration. 

"  Renzo,  as  soon  as  he  came  in  sight  of  the 
cabin,  stopped,  and  turning,  said  with  a  trem- 
bling voice,  "  there  she  is  !" 

They  enter — "  Here  they  are  !"  exclaimed 
the  female  on  the  bed.  Lucia  turned,  rose  has- 
tily, went  up  to  the  old  man,  and  cried  out, 
"  Oh  !  what  do  I  see  ?  Oh !  Father  Christo- 
pher!" 

"  Well,  Lucia  ?  From  how  many  troubles  the 
Lord  has  delivered  you  !  You  must  be  well  sa- 
tisfied that  you  have  always  placed  your  hope 
in  him." 

"  Oh,  yes !  But  you,  father?  Poor  me,  how 
he  is  changed  !  How  do  you  do  ?  tell  me,  how 
do  you  feel  ? " 

"  As  God  pleases,  and  as  through  his  grace, 
I  wish  to  feel,"  answered  the  friar  with  a  se- 
rene countenance.  And  taking  her  aside,  he 
added,  "  listen  to  me,  I  can  only  remain  here 
a  few  moments.  Are  you  disposed  to  confide 
in  me  as  you  have  always  done  ?" 

"  Oh,  are  you  not  always  my  father?" 

"  What  then,  my  daughter,  is  this  vow  that 
Renzo  tells  me  of?" 

"  It  is  a  vow  I  have  made  to  the  Madonna 
never  to  be  married." 

"  Butt  did  you  reflect  at  the  time  that  you 
were  bound  by  a  promise  ?" 

"  I  did  not  think  of  any  promise,  when  the 
Lord  and  the  Madonna  were  in  the  case." 

"  The  Lord,  my  daughter,  accepts  of  sacri- 
fices and  offerings,  when  they  belong  to  us.  It 
is  the  heart  that  he  wishes,  the  free  will ;  but 
you  could  not  offer  him  the  free  will  of  another, 
to  whom  you  were  already  bound." 

"  Have  I  done  wrong  ?" 

"  No,  my  poor  girl,  do  not  think  of  that ;  I 
believe  indeed  that  the  holy  virgin  has  been 
pleased  with  the  intention  of  your  afflicted 
heart,  and  has  offered  it  up  to  God  on  your  be- 
half. But,  tell  me,  have  you  never  taken  coun- 
sel with  any  one  on  this  matter  ?" 

"  I  did  not  think  there  was  any  harm  in  it, 
and  that  I  ought  to  confess  it ;  and  the  little  good 
one  can  dp,  we  know  there  is  no  occasion  to 
speak  of  it." 

"Have  you  no  other  reason  for  refusing 
to  fullfil  the  promiae  you  gave  to  Renzo  ? 

"As  to  that — I — what  reason — ?  I  cant 
say — that — any  thing  else,"  answered  Lucia, 
with  a  hesitation  that  evinced  any  thing  but 
uncertainty  in  her  thoughts,  whilst  her  face 
become  so  pale  with  her  illness,  was  flushed 
all  at  once  with  a  lively  blush. 

"  Do  you  believe,"  answered  the  old  man, 
lowering  his  face,  "that  God  has  giveu  to  his 


church,  authority  to  remit  and  to  confirm  for 
wise  purposes  the  obligations  and  engagements 
that  men  may  have  contracted  with  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  believe  it." 

"  Know  then  that  we,  who  are  deputed  to 
the  care  of  souls  here,  are  endowed,  in  favor 
of  all  those  who  may  require  it  of  us,  with 
ample  faculties  from  the  church ;  and,  that  con- 
sequently, I  can,  if  you  desire  it  of  me,  loosen 
you  from  the  obligation  of  whatever  nature  it 
may  be,  that  you  may  have  contracted  with 
your  vow." 

"  But  is  it  not  a  sin  to  take  back,  and  to  re- 
pent of  a  promise  made  to  the  Madonna  ?  I 
made  it  then  with  all  my  heart — "  said  Lucia, 
violently  agitated  by  the  assault,  of  such  an 
unexpected,  we  must  say  it,  hope,  and  of  being 
relieved  from  a  terror,  strengthened  by  all  the 
thoughts  that  had  for  so  long  been  the  princi- 
pal occupation  of  her  mind. 

"  A  sin,  my  daughter  ?"  said  the  friar,  "  a 
sin  to  have  recourse  to  the  church,  and  ask  of 
her  minister  to  make  use  of  the  authority  he 
has  received  from  her,  and 'that  she  has  re- 
ceived from  God  ?  I  have  observed  how  you 
two  have  conducted  yourselves  with  a  view  to 
be  united,  and  certainly  if  ever  a  pair  appeared 
to  ine  to  have  been  intended  for  each  otner  by 
God,  you  are  the  very  pair,  and  now  I  cannot 
see  why  God  should  separate  you.  And  I  bless 
him,  that  he  has  given  me,  unworthy  as  I  am, 
the  power  to  speak  in  his  name,  and  to  restore 
you  to  your  promise.  And  if  you  ask  me  to 
declare  you  loosened  from  that  vow,  I  shall  not 
hesitate  to  do  it,  I  desire  even  that  you  ask  it 
of  me." 

"Then — !  in  that  case — !  I — ask  it,"  said 
Lucia,  with  a  countenance  no  longer  disturbed 
but  by  modesty. 

The  friar  with  a  sign  beckoned  the  youth, 
who  stood  in  the  most  distant  corner  of  the 
place,  looking  (since  he  could  do  nothing  else) 
with  intense  attention  at  a  dialogue  which  in- 
terested him  so  much,  and  Renzo  being  come 
near,  the  friar  said,  with  a  distinct  voice  to  Lu- 
cia, "  by  the  authority  I  hold  from  the  church, 
I  declare  you  absolved  from  your  vow  of  vir- 
ginity, annulling  whatever  there  was  in  it  that 
was  inconsiderate,  and  liberating  you  from 
every  obligation  you  may  have  contracted  by 
it." 

The  reader  may  imagine  what  effect  these 
words  produced  upon  the  cars  of  Renzo.  He 
thanked  him  who  had  uttered  them  in  the 
warmest  manner  with  his  eyes,  and  immedi- 
ately sought,  but  in  vain,  those  of  Lucia. 

"  Return  with  security  and  in  peace  to  your 
first  thoughts,"  the  capuchin  went  on  to  say, 
"  ask  of  the  Lord  again  the  grace  you  once 
asked  of  him,  that  you  may  be  a  holy  wife,  and 
confide  in  him,  that  he  will  grant  it  to  you 
abundantly,  after  so  many  woes.  And  thou," 
said  he,  turning  to  Renzo,  "  remember,  my 
son,  that  if  the  church  restores  this  thy  com- 
panion to  thee,  it  is  not  to  procure  thee  a  tem- 
poral and  worldly  consolation,  the  which,  if  it 
could  be  complete  and  free  from  any  mixture 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


237 


of  displeasure,  would  have  to  finish  in  sorrow, 
when  you  shall  have  to  separate ;  but  she  does 
it  to  place  you  both  in  the  path  of  that  conso- 
lation which  has  no  end.  Love  each  other  like 
companions  on  a  journey,  with  the  thought 
that  you  must  one  day  separate,  but  with  the 
hope  of  being  re-united  again  for  ever.  Give 
thanks  to  Heaven  that  it  has  brought  you  to 
this  state,  not  through  turbulent  and  temporary 
rejoicing,  but  through  pain  and  misery,  that 
you  may  be  disposed  to  a  tranquil  and  endur- 
ing happiness.  If  God  grants  you  children,  see 
that  you  bring  them  up  for  him,  instil  into 
their  hearts  a  love  for  him,  and  a  love  for  men, 
and  then  you  will  guide  them  well  through 
every  thing.  Lucia  has  he  told  you,"  pointing 
to  Renzo,  "who  he  has  seen  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  father,  he  has  told  me." 

"Pray  for  him.  Be  not  tired  of  doing  so. 
Pray  too  for  me  !  My  children,  I  wish  you  to 

S-eserve  a  remembrance  of  the  poor  friar." 
e  now  took  from  the  basket  a  box  of  a  com- 
mon kind  of  wood,  but  turned  and  polished 
with  a  capuchin  kind  of  neatness,  and  con- 
tinued, "  here,within,  is  the  rest  of  that  bread — 
the  first  that  I  asked  for  charity's  sake,  that 
bread  of  which  you  have  heard  speak  !  I  leave 
it  to  you.  Preserve  it.  Show  it  to  your  chil- 
dren !  They  will  come  into  a  sad  world,  in  a 
sorrowful  age,  in  the  midst  of  haughty  and  op- 
pressive men :  tell  them  always  to  pardon, 
always !  every  thing,  every  thing !  and  tell 
them  to  pray  for  the  poor  friar." 

He  now  delivered  the  box  to  Lucia,  who  re- 
ceived it  reverently  as  if  it  had  been  a  relic. 
Then  with  a  more  composed  voice,  he  said, 
"  now  tell  me,  what  friends  have  you  here  in 
Milan?  Where  do  you  think  of  going  when 
you  leave  this  place  ?  Who  will  conduct  you  to 
your  mother,  whom  may  God  have  preserved 
in  health  ?" 

"  This  good  lady  will  be  meantime  my 
mother,  we  shall  go  from  here  together,  and 
then  she  will  think  of  every  thing." 

"  May  God  bless  her,"  said  the  friar,  coming 
near  to  the  bed.  "  I  thank  you  too,"  said  the 
widow,  "for  the  consolation  you  have  given  to 
these  poor  young  creatures,  although  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  never  to  separate  from  my 
dear  Lucia.  But  I  will  take  care  of  her  in  the 
meantime.  I  will  go  with  her  to  her  own  coun- 
try, and  will  deliver  her  to  her  mother,  and 
"  she  added  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  will  furnish  her 
with  all  her  corredo.*  I  have  too  many  things, 
and  of  those  who  should  have  shared  them 
with  me,  I  have  not  one  left !" 

"  Thus,"  answered  the  friar,  "you  can  make 
a  sacrifice  to  the  Lord,  and  do  good  to  your 
neighbor.  I  need  not  recommend  this  maiden 
to  you,  I  see  she  has  become  yours :  let  us 
praise  God  for  it,  who  knows  how  to  show  he 
is  our  Father,  even  amidst  his  chastisement, 
and  who,  by  bringing  you  together,  has  given 
so  clear  a  mark  of  love  to  you  both.  "Now !" 


*A  bride's  apparel. 


continued  he,  turning  to  Renzo,  and  taking 
him  by  the  hand,  "  we  two  have  nothing  fur- 
ther to  do  here,  we  have  indeed  been  too  long 
here.  Let  us  go." 

"  Oh,  father !"  said  Lucia,  "shall  I  see  you 
again  ?"  I  am  cured,  and  I  am  doing  no  good 
in  this  world,  whilst  you — " 

"For  a  long  time"  answered  the  old  man, 
in  a  serious  and  gentle  tone,  "  I  have  asked  a 
very  great  favor  of  the  Lord,  to  end  my  days 
in  the  service  of  my  fellow-creatures.  If 
he  will  grant  it  to  me  now,  I  stand  in  need 
that  all  those  who  have  any  charity  for  me, 
should  help  me  to  thank  him.  Come,  give 
Renzo  your  commissions  to  your  mother." 

"  Tell  her  what  you  have  seen,"  said  Lucia 
to  her  betrothed  lover,  "  that  I  have  found  here 
another  mother,  that  I  will  come  as  soon  as  I 
can,  and  that  I  hope,  I  hope  to  find  her  well — " 

"  If  you  want  money,"  said  Renzo,  "  I  have 
here  all  that  you  sent  to  me,  and — " 

"  No,  no,"  interrupted  the  widow,  "  I  have 
a  great  deal  more  than  I  want." 

"  Let  us  go,"  replied  the  friar. 

"  Good  bye,  Lucia,  until — !  and  you  too, 
then,  good  lady,"  said  Renzo,  not  finding  words 
to  signify  all  that  he  felt  at  such  a  moment. 

"  Who  knows  whether  the  lord  will  be  so 
gracious  as  to  let  us  all  meet  again !"  ex- 
claimed Lucia. 

"  May  he  always  be  with  you,  and  bless  you," 
said  the  friar  to  the  two  females,  and  left  the 
cabin  with  Renzo." 

"  The  evening  was  coining  on,  and  the  cri- 
sis of  the  weather  seemed  still  more  imminent. 
The  capuchin  once  more  offered  the  homeless 
young  man,,  an  asylum  for  the  night  in  his  poor 
cabin.  "  Company  I  can  ofter  thee  none,"  he 
added  "  but  thou  wilt  be  under  covering." 

Renzo  however  had  a  prodigious  inclina- 
tion upon  him  to  go,  caring  nothing  about  re- 
maining any  longer  in  such  a  place  as  that, 
where  he  was  not  permitted  to  see  Lucia  any 
more,  nor  indeed  had  he  the  least  disposition 
to  stay  with  the  good  friar.  As  to  the  hour 
and  the  weather,  at  may  be  said  that  night  and 
day,  sun  and  rain,  zephyr  and  storm,  were  all 
one  and  the  same  things  to  him  at  that  mo- 
ment. He  returned  therefore  his  thanks,  say- 
ing that  he  wished  to  go  back  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble to  look  for  Agnes. 

When  they  were  in  the  passage,  the  friar 
pressed  his  hand,  and  said,  "  if  thou  findest  her, 
and  may  God  grant  it !  salute  the  good  Agnes 
in  my  name,  and  tell  her,  and  all  those  who  are 
left,  and  who  remember  brother  Christopher,  to 
pray  for  me.  May  God  accompany  thee  ;  and 
bless  thee  for  ever. 

"  Oh,  dear  father — !  we  shall  see  each  other 
again  ?  We  shall  see  each  other  again  ?" 

"  In  Heaven,  I  hope."  With  these  words  . 
he  went  away  from  Renzo,  who  following  him 
with  his  eyes  until  he  disappeared,  approached 
the  gate  in  haste,  throwing  to  the  right  and  to 
the  left,  his  last  looks  of  compassion  on  the 
melancholy  abode.  There  was  an  extraordi- 
nary movement  going  on,  a  driving  of  cars,  mo- . 


238 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


natti  running  about,  an  adjustment  of  the  tents, 
and  a  hurrying  of  the  feeble  to  them  and  to  the 
porticos,  to  shelter  themselves  from  the  cloud, 
that  was  covering  the  place. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

IN  fact,  scarce  had  Renzo  sot  free  of  the 
lazaretto,  and  on  the  road,  (to  the  right,  to  get 
into  the  lane  he  came  out  of  in  the  morning 
under  the  walls)  when  some  heavy  drops  began 
to  fall  like  hail,  which  striking  upon  the 
parched  and  whitened  road,  raised  a  minute 
dust :  these  soon  became  a  thick  rain,  which, 
before  he  reached  the  lane,  came  down  in 
buckets  full.  Far  from  being  annoyed  with  it, 
it  gave  him  great  pleasure  to  be  under  it,  en- 
joying himself  in  the  refreshing  element, 
amidst  the  pattering  of  the  plants  and  leaves, 
waving  about,  and  made  green  and  bright  by 
the  precious  shower.  He  drew  a  full  and  am- 
ple breath,  and  in  this  great  transition  of  na- 
ture, felt,  as  it  were,  in  a  more  free  and  lively 
manner,  that  which  had  taken  place  in  his  des- 
tiny. 

But  how  much  more  pure  and  complete 
would  that  feeling  have  been,  if  he  had  been 
able  to  divine  what  was  perceived  a  few  days 
afterwards,  that  that  rain  thoroughly  washed 
the  contagion  away,  as  it  were  ;  that  from  that 
moment  the  lazaretto,  if  it  did  not  restore  to 
the  living  all  the  living  it  contained,  at  least 
did  not  swallow  up  any  more :  that  in  a  week 
all  the  houses  and  shops  would  be  seen  open 
again,  and  that  people  would  have  nothing  left 
almost  to  talk  aoout  but  quarantine,  and  that 
but  few  traces  here  and  there  would  remain  of 
the  pestilence,  such  as  every  one  leaves  for 
some  time. 

Our  traveler  then  pushed  on  with  great 
alacrity,  without  thinking  where  or  how,  or 
when,  or  whether  he  should  stop  at  all  at  night, 
anxious  only  to  get  on,  to  get  home  soon,  to 
find  some  one  to  talk  to,  and  above  all  things 
to  be  able  to  resume  his  journey  to  Pasture,  to 
search  for  Agnes.  He  went  on  with  his  mind 
quite  busy  with  the  incidents  of  the  day  ;  but 
amidst  all  the  misery,  the  horrors,  and  the  dan- 
gers he  had  witnessed,  one  thought  was  al- 
ways predominant, — I  have  found  tier — she  is 
cured — she  is  mine  !  Then  he  would  make  a 
spring,  and  the  rain  would  fly  from  him,  just 
as  the  water  does  from  a  dog  that  has  got  out 
of  a  river  on  the  bank.  Sometimes  he  con- 
tented himself  with  rubbing  his  hands  well  to- 
gether, and  then  would  push  on  with  greater 
spirit  than  ever.  Looking  on  the  road,  ne  col- 
lected, as  it  were,  the  thoughts  he  had  left 
there  that  morning,  or  the  day  before,  when  he 
was  going  to  Milan,  and  those  especially  with 
which  he  nad  then  cheered  his  imagination,  his 
doubts  and  difficulties,  to  find  her,  to  find  her 
alive,  amongst  so  many  dead  or  dying !  And  I 


have  found  her  alive  !• — he  concluded.  He 
would  then  recur  back  to  the  moments  of  his 
severest  trial,  the  most  terrible  and  obscure 
periods  of  the  day ;  he  thought  of  the  moment 
when  he  held  the  knocker  in  his  hand, — I  shall 
learn  that  she  is  here,  or  that  she  is  not  here  ! 
— and  then  to  receive  such  a  surly  answer,  and 
not  have  even  time  to  digest  it,  before  a  pack 
of  mad  rascals  to  fall  upon  one ;  and  that  lazaret- 
to, that  ocean  of  misery  !  what  a  place  to  look  for 
her  in !  And  then  to  find  her  there !  He 
thought  of  the  moment  when  the  procession 
of  convalescents  had  passed,  what  a  moment ! 
what  a  heart-breaking  sensation  when  she  did 
not  appear !  and  now  ne  didnt  care  a  fig  about 
it  all.  And  that  quarter  where  the  women 
were!  And  there  behind  that  cabin,  when 
least  he  was  expecting  it— that  voice — that 
voice  itself!  And  to  see  her,  to  see  her  stand- 
ing right  up  before  him !  But  then  there  was 
that  knotty  affair  of  the  vow,  and  harder  to 
undo  than  ever.  That,  too,  was  untied.  And 
then  his  rage  against  Don  Rodrigo,  that  cursed 
rancor  that  exacerbated  all  his  misery  and 
poisoned  all  his  comfort,  that  was  gone  too.  So 
that  it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a  more 
perfect  state  of  satisfaction,  if  it  was  not  for 
his  uncertainty  about  Agnes,  his  sorrow  for 
father  Christopher,  and  his  being  still  in  the 
midst  of  a  pestilence. 

He  arrived  at  Sesto  when  night  was  falling, 
and  the  rain  gave  no  sign  of  stopping.  But 
feeling  himself  in  a  better  humor  tor  walking 
than  ever,  and  so  much  trouble  about  getting 
lodgings,  and  so  completely  soaked,  he  did  not 
even  think  of  stopping.  He  had  one  urgent 
feeling  upon  him,  and  that  was  a  strong  appe- 
tite, such  good  luck  as  he  had  had  made  him 
capable  of  digesting  something  better  than  the 
simple  soup  of  the  capuchin.  He  looked  about 
for  a  baker's  shop,  and  saw  one  ;  a  couple  of 
loaves  were  handed  to  him  with  the  tongs  and 
the  other  ceremonies.  These  he  put  in  his 
pockets,  and  on  he  went. 

When  he  passed  through  Monza,  night  had 
set  in,  nevertheless  he  contrived  to  make  out 
his  way  and  get  into  the  right  road,but  from  this 
point— and  really  it  was  an  undertaking,  it  may 
be  supposed  in  what  state  the  road  Was,  and 
how  it  was  becoming  every  instant.  Sunk, 
as  they  all  were,  (we  have  mentioned  this  in 
another  place)  betwixt  two  banks,  like  the  bed 
of  a  river,  it  might  have  been  called  at  that 
time,  if  not  a  river,  at  least  quite  a  stream,  and 
every  now  and  then  holes  and  puddles,  not 
easy  to  get  shoes  frqm,  and  sometimes  even  the 
feet.  But  Renzo  extricated  himself  as  well 
as  he  could,  without  impatience,  without  bad 
words,  without  any  regrets :  reflecting  that  at 
every  step,  whatever  it  might  cost  him,  he  was 
getting  on,  that  the  rain  would  cease  when- 
ever it  would  please  God,  that  day  light  would 
appear  at  its  own  time,  and  that  the  road  he 
was  now  trampling  through,  would  then  be 
left  behind. 

Indeed,  we  may  say,  that  he  never  even 
thought  of  these  things  but  at  the  very  worst 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


239 


places.  These  were  distractions.  The  great 
labor  of  his  mind  was  going  over  the  story  of 
the  melancholy  months  he  had  passed,  so  many 
difficulties,  so  many  misfortunes,  so  many  mo- 
ments in  which  he  was  about  to  resign  even 
hope,  and  give  up  every  tiling  for  lost,  and 
then  contrasting  them  in  his  imagination  with 
a  future  of  so  different  a  character :  the  arrival 
of  Lucia,  his  marriage,  the  establishment  of 
his  house,  the  relating  of  old  adventures,  and 
the  rest  of  his  life  to  come. 

How  he  managed  at  the  cross  roads,  for  there 
were  some,  if  his  little  experience  of  the  coun- 
try, and  the  feeble  assistance  he  had  from  the 
light,  were  what  enabled  him  always  to  keep 
the  straight  road,  or  if  it  was  chance  directed 
him,  I  am  not  able  to  say ;  he  himself,  who 
used  to  relate  his  story  very  minutely,  not  te- 
diously, (and  every  thing  induces  us  to  believe 
that  our  anonymous  writer  had  heard  him  re- 
late it  more  than  once)  he  himself,  at  this  part 
of  it,  used  to  say,  that  he  remembered  the  im- 
pressions of  that  night,  just  as  if  they  had  been 
created  in  a  dream  in  bed.  The  fact  is,  that 
towards  the  end  of  the  night,  he  found  himself 
descending  to  the  Adda. 

It  had  never  ceased  raining,  but  at  one  pe- 
riod, what  had  been  a  deluge  had  become  rain, 
and  then  a  fine  shower,  equally  and  quietly 
falling.  The  thin  and  lofty  clouds  formed  a 
continuous  veil,  but  light  and  transparent,  and 
the  twilight  now  permitted  Renzo  to  see  the 
surrounding  country.  It  was  his  native  land, 
and  it  would  be  difficult  to  express  what  he 
felt  at  the  sight  of  it.  I  can  only  say,  that 
those  mountains,  that  Resegone,  near  the  ter- 
ritory of  Lecco,  had  become,  as  it  were,  his 
own  property.  He  cast  an  eye  too  upon  him- 
self, and  thought  he  cut  an  odd  figure,  such,  to 
tell  the  truth,  judging  from  his  own  feelings, 
as  he  imagined  he  must  appear  to  others ; 
every  thing  utterly  spoiled  that  he  had  on  him, 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  his  girdle,  a  sort 
of  walking  sponge,  a  traveling  gutter,  and 
from  his  waist  to  the  soles  of  his  feet,  a  mass  of 
mud  and  mire  :  if  there  were  any  places  free 
of  them,  they  were  worthy  of  the  less  material 
names  of  dirt  and  drabble.  If  he  could  have 
seen  himself  in  a  glass,  with  the  flaps  of  his 
hat  all  soft  and  hanging  down,  and  his  hair 
straightened  out  and  pasted  upon  his  face,  he 
would  have  thought  himself  still  more  remark- 
able. As  to  fatigue,  he  might  be  fatigued,  but 
he  did  not  know  it,  and  the  freshness  of  the 
morning  added  to  that  of  the  night  and  the 
gentle  bath  he  had  taken,  only  made  him  more 
resolute.and  increased  his  inclination  to  get  on. 

He  reached  Pescate,  followed  the  last  point 
of  the  Adda,  gave  a  melancholy  look  at  Pes- 
carenico,  passed  the  bridge,  and  through  the 
lanes  and  fields  reached  the  house  of  his  pitia- 
ble friend.  He,  scarcely  up,  was  standing  at 
the  door  looking  at  the  weather,  and  raised  his 
eyes  at  the  sight  of  such  a  mass  of  mud  and 
dirt,  looking  so  lively  and  happy ;  in  all  his  days 
he  had  never  seen  a  man  look  so  battered  and 
yet  so  content. 


",What?"  said  he,  "already  here?  and  in 
this  weather  ?  What,  have  you  discovered  ?" 

"  She  is  there,"  said  Renzo,  "  she  is  there, 
she  (is  there." 

"Is  she  well?" 

"  She  is  cured,  and  that  is  better.  I  have  to 
thank  God  and  the  Madonna  that  I  am  alive. 
Great  things,  things  of  fire — but  I  will  tell 
thee  every  thing." 

"  But  what  a  figure  thou  art !" 

"  I  look  well,  eh  ?" 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  thou  mightest  use  the 
water  in  the  upper  part  of  thy  oody,  to  wash 
off  the  mud  in  the  lower  part.  But  stop,  I 
will  make  thee  a  good  fire." 

"  I  shall  not  object.  Dost  thou  know  where 
the  rain  took  me  ?  exactly  at  the  gate  of  the 
lazaretto.  But  that's  nothing,  the  weather 
knows  its  trade,  and  I  know  mine." 

His  friend  went  out  and  returned  with  some 
sticks  under  his  arm,  laid  one  of  them  on 
the  ground,  and  the  other  on  the  hearth,  then 
with  some  coals  that  remained  from  the  even- 
ing before,  he  soon  raised  a  good  flame  Ren- 
zo, in  the  meantime,  had  taken  his  hat  off, 
shaken  it  a  few  times  and  thrown  it  on  the 
ground,  and  at  last,  but  not  with  as  much  ease, 
succeeded  in  getting  his  doublet  off.  He  then 
took  his  knife  from  the  pocket  of  his  trowsers, 
with  the  sheath  as  soft  as  if  it  had  been  steep- 
ed in  water,  put  it  on  a  small  table,  and  said, 
"  that  fellow's  wet  enough  too,  but  it's  water ! 
water  ! — God  be  praised  for  it.  I  have  been 
within  a  hair's  breadth — but  I'll  tell  thee  after- 
wards." And  then  he  rubbed  his  hands. — 
"  Now  do  me  another  favor,"  he  added,  "  that 
little  bundle  I  left  up  stairs,  go  and  get  it,  for 
before  those  things  are  dry  which  I  have  on—!" 
His  friend  brought  the  bundle,  and  said,  "  I 
think  thou  must  be  hungry,  I  can  understand 
there  was  plenty  to  drink  for  thee  on  the  road, 
but  as  to  eating — !" 

"  I  contrived  to  buy  a  couple  of  loaves  to- 
wards night,  but — !" 

"  Leave  it  to  me,"  said  his  friend,  who  hav- 
ing filled  a  pot  with  some  water  and  hung  it 
over  the  fire,  added,  "I  am  going  to  milk, 
when  I  return  the  water  will  be  ready,  and 
we  shall  have  a  good  polenta.  Get  thyself 
ready  at  thy  leisure." 

Renzo,  left  alone,  got,  and  not  without  trou- 
ble, the  rest  of  his  clothes  off,  which  were 
almost  glued  to  his  body,  dried  himself,  and 
dressed  himself  in  fresh  clothes  from  top  to 
bottom.  His  friend  returned,  went  to  work 
upon  the  polenta,  whilst  Renzo  took  a  seat 
waiting  for  his  breakfast. 

"  I  feel  now  that  I  am  tired,"  said  he,  "  I've 
had  a  pretty  long  walk !  But  that  is  a  small 
matter.  I  have  things  to  tell  thee  that  will  last 
the  whole  day.  What  a  pretty  state  Milan  is 
in !  One  ought  to  be  there  to  see  it !  One  ought 
to  be  there  to  feel  it !  Things  to  make  one 
afraid  of  one's  self.  There  wanted  nothing 
short  of  the  washing  I've  got !  And  what  those 
fine  fellows  down  there  wanted  to  do  to  rue  f 
Thou  shall  hear.  But  if  thou  wert  to  see  the 


240 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


lazaretto !  A  man  may  get  lost  amidst  so  much 
wretchedness.  I'll  tell  thee  all  about  it — and 
there  she  is,  and  she  will  come  here,  and  she 
will  be  my  wife ;  and  thpu  shalt  be  one  of  the 
witnesses,  and  pestilence  or  no  pestilence,  we 
will  be  merry  at  least  for  a  few  hours." 

As  to  the  rest,  he  did  what  he  had  promised 
his  friend,  he  kept  narrating  to  him  the  whole 
day,  especially  as  the  rain  continued  to  fall ; 
they  remained  in  the  house,  Renzo  sometimes 
sitting  near  his  friend,  who  occupied  himself 
repairing  some  casks,  and  in  preparation  for 
the  vintage,  in  which  Renzo  assisted  him,  for, 
as  he  was  wont  to  say,  he  was  one  of  those 
who  get  sooner  tired  of  doing  nothing,  than  of 
working.  He  could  not  resist  however  taking 
a  run  as  far  as  Agnes's  house,  to  take  a  look 
at  a  certain  window,  and  to  give  his  hands  a 
nib  there.  He  went  and  returned  unobserved, 
and  laid  himself  down  to  rest  at  an  early  honr. 
The  following  morning  he  was  up  betimes,  and 
the  rain  having  ceased,  and  the  weather  being 
fine  again,  he  started  for  Pasture. 

It  was  still  early  when  he  reached  it,  being 
in  quite  as  great  a  hurry  as  the  reader  can  be. 
He  inquired  for  Agnes,  heard  that  she  was 
well,  and  was  in  a  small  isolated  house  that 
was  pointed  out  to  him.  There  he  went,  and 
and  called  her  by  name  from  the  street.  On 
hearing  that  voice,  she  came  to  the  window  in 
a  tremendous  hurry,  and  whilst  she  stood  there 
with  her  mouth  wide  open  ready  to  ejaculate 
Heaven  knows  what,  Renzo  anticipated  her  by 
saying,  "  Lucia  is  cured,  I  saw  her  the  day 
before  yesterday :  she  salutes  you,  and  will 
soon  come.  And  then  I've  got,  on,  what  things 
I've  got  to  tell  you!" 

Betwixt  surprise  at  his  appearance,  joy  at 
the  news,  and  impatience  to  know  more,  Ag- 
nes began  first  an  exclamation,  then  a  question, 
without  finishing  any  thing,  and  forgetting  the 
precautions  she  had  accustomed  herself  to  ob- 
serve for  some  time,  said  "  I'll  come  down  and 
open  the  door  for  you." 

"  Stop,"  said  Renzo,  "  take  care  of  the 
plague,  you  have  not  had  it  I  believe." 

"I,  no;  and  you?" 

"  I  have  had  it,  and  you  must  be  prudent 
then.  I  am  just  come  from  Milan,  and  you 
shall  hear,  I've  been  in  the  contagion  quite  up 
to  the  eyes.  Its  true  I've  changed  my  clothes 
from  top  to  bottom,  but  its  a  filthy  thing  that 
sometimes  sticks  like  witchcraft.  And  since 
the  lord  has  been  pleased  to  preserve  you  till 
now,  you  must  take  care  of  yourself,  until  it 
is  quite  over,  for  you  are  our  mother,  and  I 
want  us  to  live  together  a  while  happily,  on 
account  of  the  great  sufferings  we  have  gone 
through,  at  least  myself." 

"  But — "  Agnes  began. 

"Oh !"  said  Renzo,  interrupting  her,  "there's 
no  more  but*  about  it ;  I  know  what  you  was 
going  to  say ;  but  you  shall  hear,  you  shall  hear, 
there's  no  more  butt  in  the  business.  Let  us 
go  to  some  open  place,  where  can  talk  at  our 
ease,  without  danger,  and  then  you  shall  hear." 

Agnes  pointed  to  a  garden  there  was  behind 


the  house,  told  him  to  enter  it,  and  to  sit 
down  on  one  of  two  benches  that  were  oppo- 
site to  each  other,  and  that  she  would  come 
down  stairs,  and  take  a  seat  on  the  other.  This 
was  done,  and  I  am  certain  that  if  the  reader, 
informed  as  he  is  of  what  passed  before,  ruid 
been  able  to  make  a  third,  and  could  have  wit- 
nessed such  an  animated  conversation,  could 
have  heard  all  they  said,  the  questions,  the  ex- 
planations, the  exclamations,  how  they  con- 
doled each  other,  how  they  congratulated  each 
other,  and  about  Don  Rodrigo,  and  Father 
Christopher,  and  all  the  rest,  and  those  de- 
scriptions of  the  future,  clear  and  positive  as 
those  of  the  past ;  I  am  certain,  I  say,  that 
he  would  have  been  highly  delighted,  and 
would  have  been  the  last  to  come  away.  But 
to  put  it  all  upon  paper,  mute  words  made  with 
ink,  and  without  one  new  fact,  I  am  of  opinion 
he  would  not  value  it  very  much,  and  would 
prefer  that  we  leave  him  to  guess  at  it.  The 
conclusion  was  that  they  were  all  to  go  and  live 
together  at  Bergamo,  in  the  country  where 
Renzo  had  partly  fixed  himself.  As  to  the  pe- 
riod nothing  could  be  decided  about  it,  as  it 
depended  upon  the  contagion  and  other  cir- 
cumstances. As  soon  as  the  danger  was  over, 
Agnes  was  to  return  home  to  wait  for  Lucia, 
or  Lucia  was  to  wait  for  her :  in  the  meantime 
Renzo  was  to  walk  frequently  over  to  Pasture 
to  see  his  mother,  and  to  keep  her  informed  of 
every  thing  that  was  going  on. 

Before  he  went  away,  he  offered  her  his 
money,  saying,  "  I  have  got  them  all  here,  see, 
those  crowns  you  sent,  I  had  made  a  vow  too 
never  to  touch  them,  until  the  whole  thing  was 
cleared  up.  Now,  if  you  stand  in  need  of 
them,  bring  a  dish  of  vinegar  and  water  here, 
and  I'll  throw  the  fifty  crowns  all  handsome 
and  shining,  right  into  it." 

"No,  no,"  said  Agnes.  "I  have  enough 
left,  more  than  I  want  for  myself;  keep  your 
own  together  for  yourself,  they  will  do  to  be- 
gin to  keep  house  with." 

Renzo  returned  with  the  additional  consola- 
tion of  having  found  a  person  so  dear  to  him 
quite  well  and  in  safety.  The  remainder  of 
that  day  and  the  night  he  staid  with  his  friend, 
and  the  next  day  he  was  on  the  road  again.but  in 
another  direction — towards  his  adopted  coun- 
try. 

There  he  found  Bartolo,  also  in  good  health, 
and  less  afraid  of  loosing  it,  for  in  those  few 
days,  things  even  there  nad  rapidly  assumed 
another  aspect.  People  were  attacked  much 
seldomer,  the  disorder  was  no  longer  what  it 
used  to  be,  it  was  without  that  mortal  lividity, 
and  violence  in  the  symptoms ;  but  slow  fevers, 
intermittent  for  the  greater  part,  with  at  the 
most  some  discolored  spot,  that  was  easily 
cured.  Already  the  whole  face  of  the  country 
was  changed,  the  survivors  began  to  make 
their  appearance,  to  form  part  ot  the  popula- 
tion, and  to  exchange  condolences  and  con- 
gratulations. They  began  to  talk  about  going 
to  work  again,  the  surviving  proprietors  al- 
ready were  thinking  about  engaging  workmen, 


I  PROMESSI  8POSI. 


241 


and  in  those  branches  principally  where  the 
number  had  been  scarce  even  before  the  con- 
tagion, of  which  silk  was  one.  Renzo,  with- 
out affecting  to  be  an  idler,  promised  (saving 
however  approbation  from  a  proper  quarter) 
to  go  to  work  again,  as  soon  as  he  could  return 
accompanied,  to  establish  himself  in  the  coun- 
try. He  gave  directions  meanwhile  for  the  ne- 
cessary preparations,  provided  himself  with 
more  roomy  lodgings,  a  thing  now  too  easily 
and  cheaply  procured,  and  furnished  them 
with  movables,  putting  his  hand  for  this  time 
to  the  treasure,  but  without  making  a  great 
hole  in  it,  for  every  thing  was  abundant  and 
cheap. 

After  some  days  he  returned  to  his  native 
place,  which  he  saw  was  remarkably  changed 
for  the  better.  Away  he  went  to  Pasturo,  found 
Agnes  quite  full  of  confidence,  and  disposed 
to  return  home  as  soon  as  possible,  so  that 
he  reconducted  her  there  himself.  We  shall 
not  relate  what  their  feelings  and  expressions 
were  at  returning  together  to  those  familiar 
scenes.  Agnes  found  every  thing  as  she  had 
left  it,  so  that  this  time,  she  could  say,  as  far  as 
a  poor  widow  and  a  poor  young  girl  were  in- 
terested, angels  themselves  had  been  on  guard. 

And  the  last  time,  she  added,  "whoever 
thought  that  the  Lord  was  looking  in  another 
direction,  and  was  not  thinking  of  us,  since  he 
permitted  our  poor  things  to  te  taken  away, 
has  been  greatly  mistaken,  for  the  Lord  has 
sent  me  from  another  quarter  some  good  crowns 
with  which  I  have  been  able  to  replace  every 
thing.  I  say  every  thing,  and  dont  I  say 
right ?  for  there  was  Lucia's  corredo  that  they 
carried  away,  all  quite  complete,  with  the 
rest  of  the  things ;  that  was  wanting  yet,  when 
lo,  and  behold,  even  that  is  coining  from  another 
quarter.  Who  would  have  ventured  to  say 
to  me,  when  I  was  so  busy  getting  it  ready, 
thou  thinkest  thou  art  working  for  Lucia,  eh  ? 
poor  woman  !  Thou  art  working  for  some  one 
thou  knowest  nothing  about ;  that  linen,  and 
those  clothes,  Heaven  knows  what  sort  of  a 
creature's  back  they  will  get  on  !  Those  things 
for  Lucia  indeed  !  The  corredo  that  will  have 
to  serve  her,  a  good  soul  will  think  about,  that 
thou  art  not  acquainted  with,  one  that  thou 
dost  not  know  even  who  she  is." 

The  first  care  of  Agnes  was  to  prepare  the 
most  decent  accommodation  her  poor  Cottage 
was  susceptible  for  that  good  soul ;  she  then 
went  to  look  up  some  silk  to  wind,  and  thus 
with  her  reel  she  passed  the  tedious  moments. 

Renzo,  on  his  part,  did  not  pass  the  weari- 
some days  in  idleness ;  happily  he  had  been 
instructed  in  two  callings,  and  he  now  took  to 
that  of  the  countryman.  He  sometimes  assisted 
his  friend,  for  whom  it  was  a  piece  of  good 
luck  to  be  aided  at  that  season  so  efficiently ; 
and  sometimes  he  cultivated  and  restored  to 
its  ancient  state  the  small  garden  of  Agnes  that 
had  gone  quite  out  of  order  during  her  absence. 
As  to  his  own  possession,  he  paid  no  attention 
whatever  to  it,  saying  that  it  was  like  a  wig 
that  had  got  too  much  tangled,  and  that  it  woula 
31 


take  more  than  two  arms  to  put  it  in  order. — 
He  did  not  even  enter  into  it,  not  even  into  the 
house ;  it  gave  him  pain  to  look  at  so  much 
desolation  ;  and  he  had  already  determined  to 
part  with  it  all,  at  any  price,  and  to  employ  in 
his  new  country,  whatever  he  might  get  for  it. 

If  those  who  remained  alive  were  like  re- 
suscitated persons  to  each  other,he,to  his  coun- 
trymen, was  in  a  manner  doubly  so.  Every 
one  welcomed  and  congratulated  him,  every 
one  wanted  to  hear  his  story.  Perhaps  you 
will  ask  how  he  got  over  the  proclamation 
against  him.  It  went  off  very  well,  he  scarce 
ever  thought  of  it,  supposing  that  those  whose 
duty  it  would  have  been  to  attend  to  the  exe- 
cution of  it,  thought  as  little  of  it  as  himself, 
which  was  the  fact;  and  this  was  occasioned 
not  only  by  the  plague,  which  had  obliterated  so 
many  things,  but,  as  may  be  seen  in  more  than, 
one  part  of  tyiis  story,  by  the  general  course  of 
things  in  those  days,  when  ordinances  both 
general  and  particular  against  individuals,  if 
some  private  and  potent  animosity  did  not  ex- 
ist to  keep  them  alive  and  give  effect  to  them, 
frequently  were  inoperative,  if  nothing  was 
done  after  the  first  moment ;  like  musket  balls, 
which,  when  they  dont  hurt  any  body,  remain 
in  the  ground  doing  no  injury  to  any  one  :  a 
necessary  consequence  of  the  great  facility 
with  which  ordinances  of  that  kind  were  thrown 
out  to  the  right  and  to  the  left.  The  activity 
of  man  is  limited,  and  the  superfluous  energy 
in  the  ordinance,  was  usually  compensated  by 
an  equal  want  of  it  in  the  execution.  That 
which  is  sowed  into  the  sleeves,  cant  be  kept 
for  patches. 

Those  who  want  to  know  how  Renzo  con- 
ducted himself  with  Don  Abbondio,  during  this 
delay,  are  informed  that  they  kept  at  a  distance 
from  each  other ;  this  last  from  apprehension 
lest  some  proposition  should  be  made  about 
matrimony,  at  the  thought  alone  of  which, 
there  arose  in  his  imagination  Don  Rodrigo  on 
one  side-with  his  bravos,  and  the  cardinal  on 
the  other  with  his  arguments :  the  first  because 
he  had  determined  to  say  nothing  about  it  un- 
til the  moment  had  arrived,  not  disposed  to 
run  the  risk  of  alarming  him  before  hand,  to 
create  any  new  difficulty,  and  to  embarrass  the 
affair  with  unnecessary  talking.  It  was  with 
Agnes  he  used  to  converse  about  it.  "Do 
you  think  she  will  come  soon?"  one  of  them 
asked,  "  I  hope  so,7'  would  be  answered  by  the 
other ;  and  frequently  the  very  one  who  had 
given  the  answer,  soon  after  put  the  same  ques- 
tion. And  with  these  and  similar  triflings  they 
tried  to  pass  the  time,  which  appeared  the 
longer  in  proportion  to  that  which  had  passed. 

We  will  enable  the  reader  to  get  over  the 
whole  of  it  in  a  moment,  briefly  stating,  that 
some  days  after  Renzo's  visit  to  the  lazaretto, 
Lucia,  with  the  good  widow  left  it ;  for  a  ge- 
neral quarantine  being  ordered,  they  passed  it 
together  shut  up  in  the  widow's  house.  A 
portion  of  the  time  was  spent  in  getting  ready 
Lucia's  corredo,  who  after  a  few  modest  diffi- 
culties, worked  at  it  too  herself:  and  the  qua- 


242 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


rantine  being  passed,  the  widow  consigned  the 
care  of  the  magazine  and  the  house  to  her 
brother,  the  commissary,and  preparations  were 
made  for  the  journey.  We  can  add  also  di- 
rectly, that  they  left  the  city,  arrived  safe,  as 
well  as  what  followed ;  but  with  all  the  kind 
disposition  we  have  to  accommodate  the  reader 
in  his  impatience,  there  are  three  things  be- 
longing to  that  portion  of  time,  we  do  not  wish 
to  pass  over  in  silence,  and  two  of  them  at  least 
we  believe  the  reader  wrould  reproach  us  if  we 
were  to  do  so. 

The  first,  is,  that  when  Lucia  recounted  her 
adventures  again  to  the  widow,  in  a  more  par- 
ticular and  detailed  way  than  she  had  done  in 
the  agitation  of  her  first  confidence,  and  spoke 
more  at  large  of  the  Signora  who  had  given 
her  an  asylum  in  the  monastery  at  Monza,  she 
learnt  things  from  her,  which  furnished  a  key 
to  several  mysterious  matters,  and  filled  her 
soul  with  a  sad  and  fearful  wonder.  She 
learnt  from  the  widow,  that  the  wretched  nun, 
being  suspected  of  committing  several  very 
atrocious  deeds,  had  been,  by  order  of  the  car- 
dinal, transported  to  a  monastery  at  Milan,  that 
there,  after  a  great  deal  of  furious  resistance, 
she  had  become  composed,  and  had  accused 
herself:  that  her  present  existence  was  a  vo- 
luntary penitence,  of  such  a  character,  that 
no  one,  unless  depriving  her  of  it,  could  inflict 
any  thing  more  severe  upon  her.  Any  one  de- 
sirous of  being  more  minutely  acquainted  with 
her  story  will  find  it  in  the  work*  we  have 
before  quoted,  respecting  that  person. 

The  other  is,  that  Lucia,  making  inquiries 
about  father  Christopher  of  all  the  capuchins 
she  saw  in  the  lazaretto,  heard  with  greater 
grief  than  surprise,  that  he  had  died  there  of 
the  plague. 

And  before  she  left  Milan,  she  would  have 
desired  to  know  something  of  her  old  patrons, 
and  do,  as  she  said,  an  act  of  duty,  if  either  of 
them  remained.  The  widow  accompanied  her 
to  the  house,  they  learnt  that  both  of  them 
were  gone  where  so  many  had  preceded  Don- 
na Prasede ;  when  it  is  added,  that  she  was 
dead,  nothing  more  requires  to  be  said  ;  but 
in  relation  to  Don  Ferrante,  seeing  that  he 
was  a  learned  man,  the  anonymous  author  has 
thought  it  right  that  the  tribute  should  be  paid 
to  him,  of  enlarging  a  little  on  his  score,  and 
at  our  risk,  we  snail  transcribe  as  near  as  may 
be  what  he  has  written. 

He  says,  then,  that  when  the  plague  was  first 
begun  to  be  talked  about,Don  Ferrante  was  one 
of  the  most  resolute  and  always  one  of  the 
most  constant  in  denying  its  existence ;  not  in 
a  noisy  and  ignorant  way  like  the  people,  but 
with  reasonings,  to  which  no  one  at  least  can 
say  a  concatenation  was  wanting. 

"  In  rerum  natura,"  said  he,  "  there  are  but 
two  kinds  of  things,  substances  and  accidents, 
and  if  I  can  prove  that  contagion  can  be  nei- 
ther one  nor  the  other,  I  shall  have  proved 
that  it  does  not  exist,  that  it  is  a  chimera. — 


*  Kipajn.  Hist.  Pair.  Dec.  v.  lib.  vi.  cup.  iii. 


And  here  is  my  point.  Substances  are  either 
spiritual  or  material.  To  say  that  contagion 
is  a  spiritual  substance,  is  an  absurdity  no  one 
will  maintain,  so  that  it  is  useless  to  talk  about 
it.  Material  substances  are  either  simple  or 
compound.  Now,  a  simple  substance,  conta- 
gion is  not,  and  this  can  be  demonstrated  in 
four  words.  It  is  not  an  aerial  substance,  be- 
cause, if  it  was,  instead  of  passing  from  one 
body  to  another,  it  would  fly  oflj  in  an  instant 
to  its  own  sphere.  It  is  not  an  aqueous  sub- 
stance, because  it  would  be  humid,  and  would 
be  dried  up  with  the  wind.  It  is  not  an  igni- 
ous  substance,  for  then  it  would  burn.  It  is 
not  an  earthy  substance,  for  then  it  would  be 
visible.  Neither  can  it  be  a  compound  sub- 
stance, for  under  every  view  of  it,  it  would  be 
sensible  to  the  eye  or  to  the  tact ;  and  who  is 
it  has  ever  seen  this  contagion?  Who  has 
ever  laid  his  finger  on  it  ?  It  remains  to  be 
seen  if  it  can  be  an  accident.  Worse,  and 
worse.  These  gentlemen,  the  doctors,  tell  us, 
that  it  is  communicated  from  one  body  to  an- 
other; this  is  their  Achilles,their  pretext  for  so 
many  precautions  without  common  sense. — 
Now,  supposing  it  an  accident,  then  it  must  be 
a  transported  accident,  two  words  that  are  in 
opposition  to  each  other,  there  being  in  the 
whole  science  of  philosophy,  no  one  thing 
more  clear,  or  more  transparent  than  this,  that 
an  accident  cannot  pass  from  one  subject  to 
another.  For  if,  in  order  to  avoid  this  Scylla, 
they  are  reduced  to  say,  it  is  a  produced  ac- 
cident, they  fly  from  Scylla  just  to  fall  into 
Charybdis ;  for  if  it  is  produced,  then  it  does 
not  communicate  itself,  it  does  not  propagate, 
as  they  go  hauling  about.  These  principles 
being  settled,  of  what  use  is  it  to  discuss  these 
vibin,  esantemi,  carbuncles  ? 

"  All  stuff  and  nonsense  !"  said  signer  such 
a  one  standing  by. 

"  No,  no,"  continued  Don  Ferrante,  I  dont 
say  so,  science  is  science,  only  it  is  necessary 
to  know  how  to  make  use  of  it.  All  these 
things,  together  with  parodital  tumors,  buboni 
violacei,  f  uroncoli  nigricanti,  these  are  all  very 
respectable  terms  which  have  their  proper  sig- 
nification, but  I  say  they  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  question.  Who  denies  that  such 
things  may  be,  or  indeed  that  they  actually 
exist.  The  whole  matter  is,  what  is  the  cause 
of  them?" 

And  here  began  trouble  for  Don  Ferrante 
too.  As  long  as  he  confined  himself  to  attack- 
ing the  existence  of  contagion,  he  found  none 
but  docile,  respectful,  and  benevolent  listeners, 
for  it  is  difficult  to  describe  how  great  the  au- 
thority of  a  learned  man  by  profession  is,  when 
he  only  seeks  to  persuade  others  of  the  truth 
of  things  they  are  already  persuaded  about. 
But  when  he  came  to  distinguish,  and  to  at- 
tempt to  demonstrate  that  the  errors  of  those 
physicians  did  not  consist  so  much  in  affirming 
that  there  was  a  terrible  and  general  disease 
prevailing,  as  in  assigning  its  causes,  then,  (I 
speak  of  the  first  moments,  when  the  notion 
of  disease  was  not  listened  to)  then,  instead  of 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


243 


listeners  he  met  with  contumacious  and  in- 
tractable tongues,  then  there  was  no  room  for 
reasoning,  and  he  could  only  get  his  own  doc- 
trines out  by  morsels  and  pieces. 

"  There  you  have  the  true  cause,"  said  he, 
"  and  they  are  compelled  to  admit  it,  even  they 
who  maintain  that  other  opinion  in  the  clouds — 
Let  them  deny,  if  they  can,  that  fatal  conjunc- 
tion of  Saturn  with  Jupiter.  And  when  was 
it  ever  heard  of  that  influences  were  propa- 
gated— .'  And  these  gentlemen,  will  they  deny 
these  influences  to  me  ?  Well  they  deny  there 
are  any  stars  ?  or  are  they  going  to  tell  you 
that  they  are  doing  nothing  at  all  there  in  the 
sky,  and  are  playing  the  part  of  so  many  pin- 
"heads  stuck  in  a  cushion  ?  But  what  I  cannot 
comprehend  of  these  gentlemen  doctors,  is 
their  admitting  that  we  are  under  so  malignant 
a  conjunction,  and  then  coming  and  telling  us 
in  such  a  bold  way, — dont  touch  this,  and  dont 
touch  that,  and  then  you  will  be  safe  !  As  if 
by  avoiding  contact  with  terrestrial  bodies,  we 
could  disarm  the  virtual  effect  of  celestial  ones  ! 
And  then  such  a  fuss  about  burning  a  pack  of 
rags  !  poor  creatures  !  You  would  burn  Ju- 
piter, would 'nt  you  ?  Ay  !  and  Saturn  too,  if 
you  could !" 

His  fretus,  that  is  to  say,  upon  this  founda- 
tion, he  made  use  of  no  precaution  whatever 
against  the  plague,  was  seized  by  it,  and  took 
to  his  bed.  Thus  did  he  go  to  his  death,  like 
one  of  Metastasio's  heroes,  laying  it  all  to  the 
account  of  the  stars. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

ONE  beautiful  evening  Agnes  heard  a  car- 
riage stop  at  the  door — it  is  her  beyond  a  doubt ! 
It  was  herself  with  the  good  widow.  The  rea- 
der may  imagine  their  mutual  happiness.  The 
following  morning,  Renzo  came  very  early  un- 
conscious of  what  had  occurred,  and  with- 
out any  other  motive  but  giving  vent  to  his 
feelings  with  Agnes  about  the  protracted  ab- 
sence of  Lucia.  What  he  did,  and  what  he  said 
when  he  so  unexpectedly  saw  his  mistress,  the 
reader  must  also  be  indebted  to  his  own  imagi- 
nation for.  The  behavior  of  Lucia  to  him, 
was  such  that  it  will  not  take  many  words  to 
describe  it.  "  I  salute  you,  how  do  you  do  ?" 
said  she,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  and 
without  discomposing  herself.  But  Renzo  did 
not  take  this  sort  of  reception  ill.  he  took  the 
thing  in  its  right  sense,  and  as  amongst  edu- 
cated people  compliments  pass  for  just  so  much 
as  they  are  worth,  so  he  comprehended  very 
well  what  was  to  be  understood  by  these  words. 
As  to  the  rest,  it  was  very  easy  to  perceive 
that  she  had  two  methods  of  making  them  un- 
derstood, one  for  Renzo,  and  another  for  all 
those  who  were  merely  her  acquaintances. 

"  I  do  very  well  when  I  see  you,"  replied 
the  youth,  with  a  phrase  worthy  of  being  a 
model,  but  which  he  invented  at  the  moment. 


"  Our  poor  father  Christopher — !"  said  Lu- 
cia, "  pray  for  his  soul,  although  we  may  be 
quite  sure  he  is  now  in  Heaven  praying  for 
us." 

"  I  thought  it  would  be  so,  I  was  afraid  of 
it,"  said  Renzo.  Nor  was  this  the  only  chord 
that  vibrated  sorrowfully  which  they  touched 
during  this  conversation.  But,  nevertheless, 
whatever  was  said,  the  conversation  was  a  de- 
licious one  :  like  those  capricious  horses,  which 
stamping  their  feet,  first  raising  one  and  then 
the  other,  putting  them  exactly  in  the  same 
place,  and  going  through  a  thousand  ceremo- 
nies before  they  take  a  single  step,  and  then 
start  off  at  once,  as  though  they  were  borne  by 
the  winds  ;  so  had  time  become  to  him,  at  first 
the  minutes  appeared  to  be  hours,  now  the 
hours  appeared  to  be  minutes. 

The  widow,  not  only  was  pleased  with  the 
conversation,  but  took  her  share  in  it,  Renzo 
could  never  have  supposed  when  he  saw  her 
on  the  bed,  that  she  was  of  such  a  social  and 
gay  humor.  But  the  lazaretto  and  the  coun- 
try, death  and  a  marriage,  are  by  no  means  one 
and  the  same  thing.  She  had  already  struck 
up  a  little  friendship  with  Agnes,  and  with 
Lucia  it  was  a  pleasure  to  see  her,  at  once  ten- 
der and  playful,  bringing  her  out  gently  and 
without  forcing  her,  just  enough  to  give  a  little 
life  to  her  actions  and  words. 

Renzo  at  length  said  he  would  go  to  Don 
Abbondio  to  take  measures  for  the  celebration 
of  their  marriage.  Having  found  him,  he  said 
with  a  respectful  sort  of  jocular  air  "  Signer 
curate,  has  that  headache  of  your  reverences 
past  away,  that  you  said  prevented  your 
marrying  us  ?  The  right  time  has  come  now, 
the  bride  has  arrived,  and  I  am  come  to  knotv 
when  it  will  be  convenient  to  you,  but  this 
time  I  must  entreat  you  to  do  it  soon." 

Don  Abbondio  by  no  means  said  he  would 
not  do  it,  but  he  began  to  hesitate,  to  make 
excuses  and  insinuations — what  was  he  going 
to  discover  himself  for,  and  have  his  name 
talked  of  with  that  proclamation  hanging  over 
his  head?  And  couldn't  the  thing  be  done 
somewhere  else,  and  this  thing  and  that  thing. 

"  I  understand,"  said  Renzo,  "  your  reve- 
rence has  got  a  little  of  that  old  headache  yet. 
But  hear,  hear."  He  then  described  to  him  in 
what  state  he  had  seen  poor  Don  Rodrigo,  and 
that  there  was  no  doubt  he  must  be  dead  now. 
"Let  us  hope,"  he  concluded  "that  the  Lord 
has  show'd  mercy  to  him." 

"  What  has  this  got  to  do  with  it  ?'  said  Don 
Abbondio,  "  have  I  told  you  I  would  not  many 
you  ?  I  dont  say  no,  not  I !  I  speak,  merely  for 
good  reasons.  As  to  the  rest,  look  you,  as  long 
as  a  man  has  got  breath  in  his  body — !  Look 
at  me  :  I  am  a  broken  vessel,  I  too  have  been 
nearer  to  the  other  world  than  to  this,  still  here 
I  an,  and, — if  nothing  else  comes  to  disturb 
me — enough — I  too  may  hope  to  remain  here 
a  little  longer.  Just  consider  now  how  men  of 
a  certain  temper — but  as  I  said — what  has  this 
got  to  do  with  it  ?" 

After  some  more  conversation  quite  as  in- 


244 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


conclusive,  Renzo  scraped  him  one  of  his  best 
bows,  and  returning  to  his  friends,  told  them 
what  had  passed,  and  ended  by  saying,  "  I 
came  away,  for  I  was  too  full,  and  would  not 
run  the  risk  of  losing  my  patience,  and  saying 
what  was  improper.  At  certain  moments  he 
was  just  the  man  he  was  before,  and  talked  just 
in  the  same  way ;  I  am  sure  if  it  had  lasted  a 
little  longer,  he  would  have  begun  to  talk  latin 
to  me  again.  I  see  he  wants  to  make  it  along 
business  again,  and  it  is  better  to  do  at  once 
what  he  says,  and  go  and  be  married  where  we 
mean  to  live." 

"Ill  tell  you  what  we  will  do!"  said  the 
widow,  "  we  women  will  go  and  make  a  trial, 
we'll  see  if  we  cant  get  hold  of  the  right  end  of 
the  skein.  And  then  I  shall  have  the  pleasure 
too  of  knowing  this  man,  and  seeing  if  he  is 
just  as  you  say  he  is.  We'll  go  after  dinner, 
so  as  not  to  come  back  upon  him  quite  so  soon. 
Now,  Signer  Sposo,  you  must  take  us  two  a 
walk  whilst  Agnes  is  occupied ;  I  will  act  as 
mamma  to  Lucia,  and  really  I  want  to  take  a 
look  at  those  mountains,  and  that  lake  of  which 
I  have  heard  so  much  ;  from  the  little  I  have 
seen  of  it  it  appears  to  me  to  be  a  remarkably 
beautiful  thing." 

Renzo  conducted  them  at  first  to  his  friend's 
house,  where  they  were  joyfully  received,  and 
they  made  him  promise,  that  not  only  that  day, 
but  everyday,  if  he  could,  he  would  come  and 
dine  with  them. 

Having  taken  their  walk,  Renzo  went  im- 
mediately out,  without  saying  where  he  was 
going.  The  women  remained  a  while  to  talk 
a  little,  and  concert  the  way  to  attack  Don 
Abbondio,  and  at  length  the  assault  was  given. 

Here  they  come — said  he  to  himself,  but  he 
received  them  well,  was  full  of  congratulations 
to  Lucia,  was  civil  to  Agnes,  and  compliment- 
ed the  stranger.  Having  begged  them  to  be 
seated,  he  entered  upon  the  great  topicj  the 
plague,  desired  to  know  from  Lucia  how  she 
had  got  through  it ;  the  mentioning  of  the  la- 
zaretto furnisned  an  opportunity  to  let  the 
widow  who  had  been  her  companion,  say  a 
few  words :  then,  as  was  natural,  he  began 
talking  of  his  share  of  it,  and  then  prodigious 
congratulations  with  Agnes  who  had  escaped 
it.  The  visit  was  lasting  rather  long,  and 
from  the  first  moment  the  two  eldest  were  on 
the  look  out,  to  put  in  a  word  at  the  very  first 
chance,  as  to  the  essential  point :  at  last  one  of 
them  broke  the  ice  ;  but  what  was  to  be  done  ? 
Don  Abbondio  was  quite  deaf  at  that  ear :  he 
took  care  not  to  say  no,  but  took  to  his  tergi- 
versations, and  twistings,  and  talking  nonsense 
again.  "  It  would  be  necessary,"  he  said, "  first 
to  get  that  horrid  proclamation  quashed ;  you, 
signora,  who  are  from  Milan,  will  be  acquaint- 
ed more  or  less  with  the  thread  of  affairs,  will 
have  some  good  friends,  will  be  acquainted 
with  some  cavalier  of  weight,  that's  the  way 
to  heal  all  wounds.  And  if  they  want  to  take 
the  shortest  way,  without  embarking  them- 
selves in  so  many  things,  since  these  young 
people,  and  our  Agnes  here  intend  to  aban- 


don their  home,  (I  dont  know  what  to  say, 
home  is  where  one  is  well  off)  it  seems  to  me 
they  had  better  do  every  thing  there,  where 
there  is  no  proclamation  to  trouble  themselves 
about.  I  dont  exactly  see  the  time  when  this 
connection  may  properly  take  place,  but  I 
should  like  to  see  it  done  well  and  peacefully. 
I  speak  the  truth,  with  that  proclamation  still 
out,  to  pronounce  at  the  altar  that  name  of 
Lorenzo  Tramaglino,  I  could  not  do  with  a 
quiet  heart,  I  love  them  too  much,  I  should  be 
afraid  to  render  them  a  bad  service.  Only 
see,  signora,  see  yourselves. 

Here  Agnes  began,  and  the  widow  began, 
to  oppose  his  reasonings,  and  Don  Abbondio 
to  reproduce  them  under  another  form,  it  was 
a  constant  da  capo.  When  in  came  Renzo, 
with  a  resolute  step,  and  news  in  his  face,  say- 
ing, "The  Signer  Marquis  ***  is  arrived." 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  arrived  where  ?" — 
asked  Don  Abbondio,  rising  from  his  chair. 

"  He  has  arrived  in  his  palace,  that  once  be- 
longed to  Don  Rodrigo,  for  this  Signor  Mar- 
quis is  his  heir,  so  that  there  is  no  doubt  about 
it.  For  me,  I  should  be  quite  content  if  I 
knew  that  poor  man  died  well.  I  have  said  a 
great  many  Paternosters  for  him,  and  now  I 
will  say  some  De  profundis.  And  this  Signor 
Marquis  is  a  very  good  man."  "  Certainly," 
said  Don  Abbondio,  "  I  have  heard  him  called 
more  than  once  a  very  excellent  man,  a  man 
of  the  old  stamp.  But  is  it  really  true?" 

"  Will  you  believe  the  sacristan  ?" 

"  What  for  ?" 

"  Because  he  has  seen  him  with  his  own 
eyes.  I  have  only  been  there  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, and  to  tell  the  truth,  I  went  there  on  pur- 
pose, thinking  there  was  something  to  be  heard 
there.  And  more  than  one  and  two  have  told 
me  so.  I  afterwards  met  Ambrogio,  who  was 
coming  from  the  castle,  and  who  has  seen  him, 
as  I  say,  acting  as  the  master.  Would  your 
reverence  like  to  speak  to  Ambrogio  ?  I  ask- 
ed him  to  wait  outside  on  purpose." 

"Let  us  hear  him,"  said  Abbondio.  Ren- 
zo went  to  call  the  sacristan,  who  confirmed 
the  thing  completely,  added  some  other  parti- 
culars, resolved  all  lu's  doubts,  and  then  went 
away. 

"Ah!  he  is  dead  then!  really  gone!"  ex- 
claimed Don  Abbondio.  "  You  see,  my  chil- 
dren, how  Providence  ferrets  certain  people 
out  at  last.  Do  you  know  that  this  is  a  great 
affair !  a  great  breathing  for  this  poor  countiy ! 
for  no  body  could  live  where  he  was.  The 
pestilence  nas  been  a  great  scourge,  and  it  has 
been  a  broorn  too ;  it  has  swept  away  certain 
subjects  that  we  should  never  have  freed  our- 
selves from — green,  fresh,  full  of  life.  One 
would  have  said  that  the  man  that  was  to  bury 
them,  was  at  school  yet,  getting  his  first  latin 
words  off  by  heart.  And  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  they  have  disappeared,  a  hundred  at  a 
time.  We  shall  see  him  no  more  going  about 
with  those  cut-throats  behind  him,  full  of  self- 
conceit,  turning  his  nose  up,  as  stiff  as  if  he 
had  a  stake  in  his  body,  and  looking  at  people, 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


245 


as  if  they  were  all  in  the  world  just  through 
his  condescension.  In  the  meantime,  he  has 
left  it,  and  we  remain  behind.  He  will  send 
no  more  of  those  messages  of  his  to  respecta- 
ble people.  He  has  given  us  all  a  great  deal 
of  vexation,  do  you  see,  that  we  can  say  at 
least." 

"  I  have  pardoned  him  from  my  heart,"  said 
Renzo. 

"Thou  hast  done  well,  it  was  thy  duty," 
replied  Don  Abbondio,  "  but  we  may  thank 
God  that  we  are  delivered  from  him  too. — 
Now,  coming  to  our  own  affairs,  I  return  to 
say,  do  whatever  you  like  best.  If  you  wish 
me  to  marry  you,  here  I  am ;  if  it  is  more  con- 
venient in  another  place,  please  yourselves. — 
As  to  the  proclamation,  I  see  too,  that  now, 
there  being  no  body  to  observe  you  and  to  do 
you  any  evil,  it  is  not  a  matter  to  take  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  about,  especially  since  that 
gracious  decree  has  appeared  on  account  of  the 
birth  of  the  most  serene  infant.  And  then  the 
plague !  the  plague  !  it  has  blotted  out  a  great 
many  things,  that  plague  !  So  that,  if  you 
wish, — to  day,  is  Thursday — Sunday,  I  will 
ask  you  in  church ;  for  what  has  been  done 
heretofore,  goes  for  nothing  after  so  long  a 
time  has  passed,  and  then  I  snail  have  the  con- 
solation to  many  you  myself." 

"  Your  reverence  knows  we  came  on  pur- 
pose for  this,"  said  Renzo. 

"  It  is  all  right,  and  I  will  serve  you,  and  I 
will  immediately  send  word  to  his  eminence." 

"  Who  is  his  eminence  ?"  asked  Agnes. 

"  His  eminence,"  answered  Don  Abbondio, 
"  is  our  signor  cardinal  archbishop,  whom  God 
preserve.'" 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  you  must  excuse  me,"  re- 
plied Agnes,  "  for  although  I  am  a  poor  ignor- 
ant women,  I  can  certify  that  that  is  not  the  way 
to  call  him,  for  when  we  went  the  second  time 
to  speak  to  him,  as  I  am  now  talking  to  your 
reverence,  one  of  those  gentlemen  the  priests 
drew  me  on  one  side,  and  taught  me  how  I 
ought  to  address  myself  to  him,  and  that  I 
should  call  him  Vossignoria  illustrissima  and 
Monsignore." 

"  And  now,  if  he  should  ever  instruct  you 
again,  he  will  tell  you  that  eminence  is  the 
proper  title  given  to  him,  do  you  comprehend  ? 
For  the  pope,  whom  God  preserve  too,  has 
prescribed,  that  since  the  month  of  June,  this 
title  be  given  to  the  cardinals.  And  do  you 
know  why  he  has  come  to  this  resolution  ? — 
Why,  because  the  title  of  illustrissimo  which 
belonged  to  them  and  to  certain  princes,  you 
can  see  yourselves  what  sort  of  a  thing  that 
has  become,  and  how  many  it  is  given  to ;  and 
how  willingly  they  all  suck  it  down !  Well 
now,  what  would  you  do  ?  Take  it  away  from 
all  of  them  ?  There  would  be  nothing  but  ap- 
peals, rancors,  vexations,  and  spites,  and  the 
thing  would  go  on  as  before  into  the  bargain. 
The  pope,  therefore,  has  provided  an  excel- 
lent remedy.  By  degrees  the  bishops  will  be- 
gin to  be  called  eminence,  then  the  abbots 
will  want  it,  and  then  the  priests,  for  men  are 


just  made  so,  they  always  want  to  be  pushing 
onwards  :  then  the  canons  will  want  it. — " 

"And the  curates?"  said  the  widow. 

"  No,  no,"  answered  Don  Abbondio,  "  the 
curates  have  to  go  in  the  cart  sills,  dont  you 
believe  they  will  get  any  bad  habits  of  that 
kind,  they  will  have  to  be  content  with  reve- 
rend to  the  end  of  the  world.  But  I  should  not  be 
surprised  if  the  cavaliers,  who  are  accustomed 
to  hear  themselves  called  illustrissimo,  and  to  be 
treated  like  cardinals,  should  some  day  or  other 
want  to  be  eminences  too.  And  if  they  do,  you 
will  see,  that  they  will  find  plenty  of  people 
to  call  them  so.  And  then,  the  pope,  whoever 
he  may  be  at  that  day,  will  have  to  find  out 
something  else  for  the  cardinals.  But.  to  get 
back  to  our  own  affairs ;  Sunday  I  will  ask  you 
in  church,  and  in  the  meantime,  what  do  you 
think  I  have  imagined  to  render  you  service  ? 
In  the  meantime  we  will  ask  for  a  dispensa- 
tion for  the  other  two  times.  They  have 
enough  to  do  in  Curia  there  below  to  grant  dis- 
pensations, if  they  are  required  as  much  as 
they  are  from  this  quarter.  For  Sunday  I  have 
already — one — two — three — without  counting 
you,  and  there  may  be  others  yet.  And  then 
afterwards,  you  will  see,  the  fire  has  got  into 
them,  there  will  not  be  a  single  bachelor  left  in 
the  country.  It  was  a  great  piece  of  folly  in 
Perpetua  to  die  now,  she  would  have  found  a 
purchaser  in  these  times  as  well  as  the  rest. 
And  at  Milan,  signora,  I  suppose  it  is  pretty 
much  the  same  thing. 

"  Exactly  :  only  imagine  to  yourself,  in  my 
parish  alone,  last  Sunday,  there  were  fifty 
marriages." 

"  Didnt  I  say  so,  the  world  is  not  going  to 
end  yet.  And  you,  signora,  has  no  fly  begun 
to  buz  about  you  yet  ? 

"  No,  no,  I  am  not  thinking  that  way,  and 
do  not  mean  to  do  so." 

"Ay,  ay,  you  want  to  be  the  only  single 
woman  in  the  world.  Agnes,  too,  see  there, 
Agnes  too — " 

"  Pugh,  your  reverence  wants  to  laugh,"  an- 
swered she. 

"  To  be  sure  I  want  to  laugh,  and  it  seems 
to  me  it  is  high  time.  We  have  gone  through 
some  tough  things,  eh  ?  Some  tough  things,  my 
young  people,  we  have  gone  through  !  The 
few  days  we  have  to  remain  here  yet,  it  is  to 
be  hoped  may  not  be  quite  so  sad.  But !  hap- 
py you,  if  no  misfortune  happens  to  you,  you 
nave  yet  a  long  time  to  talk  of  past  troubles  ! 
The  poor  old  man — rascals  may  die,  one  may 
be  cured  of  the  plague,  but  there  is  no  remedy 
for  old  age,  and,  as  the  saying  is,  Senectus  ip$a 
est  morbus." 

"  Your  reverence  may  talk  latin  now,"  said 
Renzo,  "  as  long  as  he  likes,  I  care  nothing 
about  it." 

"  Oh !  thou  hast  got  a  spite  against  latin  yet, 
eh  ?  Very  well,  very  well,  I'll  suit  thee.  When 
thou  comest  before  me  with  this  young  crea- 
ture, just  to  hear  a  few  short  words  said  in  latin, 
I'll  say  to  thee,  'thou  dost  not  like  latin,  so 
go  in  peace.  Eh?'", 


246 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


"Ah,"  said  Renzo,  "how  do  I  know  what 
I  am  saying,  it  is  not  such  latin  as  that  that 
frightens  me :  that  is  an  honest,  holy,  latin, 
like  that  of  the  mass,  and  even  the  clergy  are 
obliged  there  to  read  it  out  of  the  book.  I 
speak  of  that  rascally  latin  out  of  church,  that 
does  nothing  but  betray  one  in  the  middle  of  a 
conversation.  For  example,  now  that  we  are 
here,  and  all  is  settled,  that  latin  that  your 
reverence  was  spinning  out  to  me  in  that  cor- 
ner there,  to  make  me  believe  you  could  not, 
and  that  there  were  some  other  things  to  do 
first,  and  what  do  I  know,  will  your  reverence 
just  turn  it  into  the  vulgar  tongue  for  me  ?" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  you  monkey,  hold  your 
tongue,  dont  stir  these  things  up  again ;  for  if 
we  were  to  make  up  our  accounts,  1  dont  know 
who  would  have  to  receive  all  the  excuses. 
Let  us  say  no  more  about  it,  but  you  played 
off  some  pretty  tricks  on  me.  I  am  not  aston- 
ished at  thee,  thou  art  a  sad  dog  enough,  but  I 
speak  of  this  quiet  piece  of  water,  this  young 
saint  here,  that  it  was  a  sort  of  sin  to  have  any 
doubt  about.  But — I  know — I  know,  where 
she  got  her  schooling,  I  know,  I  know ;"  say- 
ing this  he  turned  his  finger  that  he  was  point- 
ing to  Lucia,  to  Agnes,  and  shook  it.  It  would 
be  difficult  to  describe  the  good  nature  and  the 
pleasant  manner  in  which  he  made  them  these 
reproofs.  The  news  of  Don  Rodrigo's  death 
had  put  him  into  a  humor,  and  giving  him  such 
a  fit  of  talking,  as  he  had  been  unaccustomed 
to  in  a  long  time,  and  we  should  be  still  far 
from  the  end,  if  we  were  to  relate  the  remain- 
der of  the  conversation,  which  he  prolonged, 
detaining  the  party  when  they  were  ready  to 
go,  and  stopping  them  a  minute  or  two  at  the 
doorway,  always  talking  nonsense  to  them. 

The  succeeding  day  ne  received  a  visit  as 
unexpected  as  it  was  pleasing.  The  Signer 
Marquis of  whom  we  have  spoken,  a  mid- 
dle aged  man,  whose  countenance  was  a  guar- 
antee to  his  good  name,  open,  benevolent,  pla- 
cid, humble,  dignified,  and  something  that  in- 
dicated a  resigned  sorrow. 

"  I  come,"  said  he,  "  to  bring  you  the  salu- 
tations of  the  cardinal  archbishop." 

"  Oh,  what  condescension  on  the  part  of 
both!" 

"  When  I  took  leave  of  that  incomparable 
man,  who  honors  me  with  his  friendship,  he 
spoke  to  me  of  two  betrothed  lovers  of  this 
parish,  who  have  gone  through  a  good  deal  of 
suffering  on  account  of  poor  Don  Rodrigo. 
Monsignor  wishes  to  have  some  information 
about  them.  Are  they  alive  ?  And  are  their 
affairs  adjusted  ?" 

"Every  thing  is  adjusted  indeed,  I  was 
going  to  write  to  his  eminence ;  but  now  that 
I  have  the  honor — " 

"  Are  they  in  this  place  ?" 

"  They  are  here,  and  as  soon  as  it  is  possi- 
ble, they  are  to  be  man  and  wife." 

"I  would  request  to  be  informed  if  I  can  do 
them  any  good,  and  that  you  would  tell  me 
how  to  do  it.  In  this  calamity  I  have  lost  my 
two  only  sons,  and  their  mother,  and  have  in- 


herited three  considerable  properties.  I  had 
more  than  enough  before,  so  that  your  reve- 
rence perceives,  that  by  giving  me  an  op- 
portunity to  employ  some  of  my  means,  and 
especially  upon  this  occasion,  it  will  be  truly 
rendering  me  a  service." 

"  May  Heaven  bless  your  excellency !  Why 
are  they  not  all  like  you,  the — ?  But,  never 
mind,  I  thank  you  from  my  heart  for  these 
children  of  mine.  And  since  Vossignoria  illus- 
trissimo  gives  me  such  encouragement,  I  have 
indeed  an  expedient  to  suggest,  which  perhaps 
you  will  not  dislike.  Know,  then,  that  these 
good  people  are  determined  to  go  and  establish 
themselves  in  another  place,  and  to  sell  the 
little  they  possess  here :  the  young  man  has 
a  small  vineyard  of  some  nine  or  ten  perches, 
more  or  less,  but  abandoned,  and  all  grown  up 
into  weeds  :  there  is  absolutely  nothing  but  the 
ground  ;  he  has  a  small  house  too,  and  there 
is  another  belonging  to  the  bride,  nothing  but  a 
couple  of  rats'  nests  now.  A  nobleman  like 
your  excellency  can  never  know  how  it  fares 
with  poor  people,  when  they  are  obliged  to  sell 
even  their  homes.  The  matter  ends  by  the 
property  falling  into  the  hands  of  some  avari- 
cious rogue,  who  has  had  an  eye  upon  their 
possessions  for  some  time,  and  who,  when  he 
finds  out  they  must  sell,  keeps  aloof,  and  pre- 
tends indifference ;  then  they  have  to  run  after 
him  and  give  it  away  for  a  piece  of  bread,  es- 
pecially in  such  times  as  these.  Your  excel- 
lency sees  where  my  story  is  going  to  end. 
The  greatest  piece  of  benevolence  that  Vossig- 
nora  illustrissimo  can  do  to  them,  is  to  extri- 
cate them  from  this  difficulty,  and  purchase 
their  little  property.  I,  to  speak  the  truth,  find 
my  own  interest  in  the  matter ;  my  gain  is,  to 
have  acquired  in  my  parish  such  a  patron  as 
the  Signor  Marquis.  But  your  excellency  will 
decide  as  it  may  seem  good  to  you,  I  have 
spoken  merely  to  obey." 

The  marquis  approved  the  suggestion  very 
much,  thanked  Don  Abbondio,  and  requested 
him  to  fix  the  price,  and  to  make  it  a  large  one : 
he  then  completed  the  surprise  of  the  curate, 
by  proposing  that  they  should  go  together  to 
the  house  ot  the  bride,  where  probably  they 
would  also  find  her  lover. 

On  the  way,  Don  Abbondio,  quite  delighted, 
as  it  may  be  supposed,  thought  of  another  mat- 
ter, and  said,  "  since  Vossignoria  illustrissima 
is  so  much  disposed  to  be  serviceable  to  this 
pair,  there  is  another  service  you  can  render 
them.  The  young  man  has  a  rescript  out 
against  him,  a  sort  of  outlawry,  for  some  ex- 
travagance he  fell  into  in  Milan,  two  years 
ago,  the  day  of  <he  great  tumult,  in  which  he 
found  himself,  without  any  bad  intentions,  and 
quite  from  ignorance,  just  like  a  mouse  in  a 
trap :  there  is  nothing  serious  in  the  matter, 
your  excellency ;  boy's  tricks,  nothing  else :  he 
is  quite  incapable  of  doing  any  thing  bad,  I 
can  give  my  word  for  that,  for  I  baptized  him, 
and  have  seen  him  grow  up :  and  then,  if  your 
excellency  wishes  to  amuse  himself,  as  noble- 
men sometimes  do,  by  hearing  these  poor  peo- 


I  PROMESSI  SPOSI. 


247 


pie  talk  in  their  careless  way,  he  can  tell  the 
story  himself,  and  then  your  excellency  can 
judge.  Now,  these  being  old  affairs,  no  one 
troubles  him,  and  as  I  have  said,  he  talks  of 
leaving  the  dutchy,  but  the  time  may  come, 
when  he  may  want  to  come  back  here,  or 
something  may  happen,  it  is  better,  as  your 
excellency  knows,  to  be  free  of  all  such  things. 
The  Signor  Marquis,  counts,  in  Milan,  as  ne 
ought  of  right  to  do,  for  the  cavalier,  and  the 
great  man  that  he  is — No,  no,  let  me  say  it, 
truth  must  find  its  place.  A  recommendation, 
a  word  from  a  man  like  your  excellency, 
would  be  more  than  would  be  necessary  to  re- 
lieve him  from  this  affair." 

"There  are  no  important  things  against 
him  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no ;  I  believe  nothing  of  the  kind. 
They  let  out  upou  him  at  the  very  first  mo- 
ment, but  now  I  believe  it  is  a  mere  matter  of 
formality." 

"  That  being  the  case,  it  will  be  very  easy, 
and  I  take  it  willingly  upon  myself." 

"And  then  your  excellency  won't  let  me 
say  you  are  a  great  man.  I  say  it,  and  I  will 
say  it,  in  spite  of  you  I  will  say  it.  And  if  I 
was  to  be  silent,  it  would  be  of  no  use,  for 
everybody  says  so,  and  vox popvli  vox  dei." 

They  found  the  three  women  and  Renzo 
there  together.  It  may  be  imagined  what  as- 
tonishment they  were  in.  I  imagine  even  the 
naked  and  ragged  walls,  the  tables  and  the  fur- 
niture must  have  been  astonished  to  find  such 
an  extraordinary  guest  amongst  them.  He  gave 
animation  to  the  conversation,  talking  ot  the 
cardinal  and  of  other  matters,  with  open  cor- 
diality, and  with  a  just  delicacy.  In  a  short 
time  he  introduced  the  proposition  that  had 
been  spoken  of,  and  requested  Don  Abbondio 
to  fix  the  price  ;  who  alter  a  good  deal  of  pro- 
logue and  excuse,  began  saying  it  was  not  an 
affair  of  his  own,  and  all  he  could  do  was  to 
throw  out  a  hint,  he  was  only  speaking  in  obe- 
dience to  the  wishes  of  the  Marquis,  to  which 
every  thing  must  be  referred,  and  then,  as  he 
said,  proposed  something,  in  his  opinion,  quite 
preposterous.  The  purchaser  said  that  on  his 
part  he  was  perfectly  content,  and,  as  if  there 
had  been  an  understanding  about  it,  doubled  the 
price,  and  would  listen  to  no  sort  of  modifica- 
tion, finishing  the  whole  matter  by  inviting  the 
company  to  dine  at  the  palace,  the  day  after 
the  marriage,  when  the  deeds  should  be  signed. 

Ah! — said  said  Don  Abbondio  to  himself, 
when  he  got  home — if  the  plague  managed 
things  always,  and  every  where,  in  this  way,  it 
would  be  quite  a  sin  to  say  any  harm  of  it ;  we 
should  be  almost  wanting  one  for  every  gener- 
ation, and  one  might  make  a  bargain  about 
having  a  pestilence. 

The  dispensation  came,  and  then  the  abso- 
lutary,  and  at  last  the  blessed  day,  itself  came. 
The  betrothed  lovers  went  with  perfect  trium- 
phant security  to  church,  where  Don  Abbon- 
dio pronounced  them  man  and  wife.  Another 
triumph,  and  a  still  more  singular  one,was  their 
going  to  the  palace  the  next  day.  It  may  be 


imagined  what  their  thoughts  were  as  they 
rose  the  ascent,  and  entered  the  gate,  and 
what  reflections  they  made,  each  one  after 
their  own  fashion.  It  was  remarked,  in  the 
midst  of  their  mirth,  that  all  of  them  said  more 
than  once,  that  to  make  the  feast  perfect,  poor 
father  Christopher  was  wanting.  "  But  as  to 
him,"  they  added,  "  he  is  much  better  off  than 
we  are." 

The  Marquis  received  them  very  cordially, 
conducted  them  to  a  handsome  dining  room, 
and  seated  the  married  pair  at  table  with  Agnes 
and  the  widow,  but  before  he  retired  with  Don 
Abbondio  to  dine  elsewhere,  he  was  pleased  to 
assist  a  little,  and  help  his  guests  even  at  this 
first  table.  I  hope  it  will  not  enter  into  any 
one's  head,  that  it  would  have  been  better  to 
have  had  but  one  table.  I  have  said  he  was  a 
very  worthy  man,  but  not  that  he  was  an  origi- 
nal, as  he  would  then  have  been.  I  have  said 
that  he  was  humble,  but  not  that  he  was  a  pro- 
digy of  humility.  He  was  sufficiently  so  to 
place  him  beneath  those  good  people  by  help- 
ing them,  but  not  enough  to  put  himself  on  a 
level  with  them. 

After  the  two  dinners,  the  contract  was  pro- 
duced by  a  doctor,  who  was  not  Azzecca-gar- 
bugli.  He,  I  mean  to  say  his  remains,  was  and 
still  are  at  CantereUi,  and  for  those  who  dont 
come  from  that  quarter,  perhaps  there  will 
want  an  explanation  here. 

Perhaps  about  half  a  mile  above  Lecco,  and 
almost  on  the  flank  of  the  country  place  called 
Castello,  is  a  place  named  CantereUi,  where 
two  roads  cross  each  other:  on  one  side  of 
these  four  corners  is  an  eminence,  like  an  ar- 
tificial hill,  with  a  cross  on  the  top,  which  is 
nothing  but  a  great  heap  of  dead  that  perished 
during  the  contagion.  Tradition,  it  is  true, 
simply  calls  it,  the  dead  of  the  contagion,  but  it 
is  that  beyond  a  doubt  which  was  the  last  and 
the  most  deadly  of  which  the  remembrance  is 
preserved.  And  learn  that  traditions,  if  they 
are  not  assisted  a  little,  always  leave  something 
unexplained. 

They  met  with  no  trouble  on  their  return, 
if  it  was  not  that  Renzo  was  somewhat  incom- 
moded by  the  weight  of  the  money  he  had  re- 
ceived ;  but,  as  you  know  well  enough,  he  had 
triumphed  over  greater  difficulties  than  this. 
I  say  nothing  of  the  mental  labor  he  had,  which 
was  not  trifling,  to  think  of  his  best  method  of 
employing  them  :  to  look  at  the  projects  that 
passed  through  his  head,  the  contests  he  had 
with  himself,  the  pros  and  cons,  for  and  against 
agriculture  and  the  silk  spinning  business,  you 
would  have  thought  that  two  academies  of  the 
past  age  had  met.  And  the  matter  was  infi- 
nitely more  pressing  and  full  of  trouble  to  him, 
for,  being  only  one  man,  he  could  not  say  to 
himself,  "  what  occasion  is  there  to  choose  ? 
both  one  and  the  other,  at  the  proper  time,  for 
the  means  in  substance  are  the  same,  and  they 
are  two  things,  like  the  limbs,  and  two  can  go 
better  than  one." 

Now,  nothing  else  was  thought  of  but  pack- 
ing up,  and  traveling ;  the  Traiuaglino  family 


248 


THE  METROPOLITAN. 


for  their  new  country,  and  the  widow  for  Mi- 
lan. Tears,  thanks,  promises  to  see  each  other 
again,  were  abundant.  Not  less  tender,  ex- 
cepting; the  tears,  was  the  parting  of  Renzo 
and  his  family  from  his  pitiable  friend  ;  neither 
did  matters  go  off  coldly  with  Don  Abbondio. 
The  three  poor  people  had  always  preserved  a 
respectful  attachment  to  their  curate,  and,  at 
the  bottom  he  had  always  been  attached  to 
them.  It's  the  blessed  business  affairs  of  the 
world  that  set  the  affections  wrong. 

If  any  one  should  ask  if  there  was  no  pain 
felt  at  this  separation  from  their  native  country, 
from  their  mountains,  the  answer  is,  that  there 
was,  for  I  may  venture  to  say  there  is  a  little 
pain  belonging  to  every  thing.  It  may  be  be- 
lieved, however,  that  it  was  not  very  violent, 
since  they  might  have  spared  it  to  themselves 
altogether,  by  remaining  at  home,  now  that  the 
two  great  obstacles,  Don  Rodrigo  and  the  out- 
lawry, were  removed.  But  for  some  time  they 
had  accustomed  themselves  to  consider  that 
their  country  to  which  they  were  going.  Ren- 
zo had  placed  it  in  a  favorable  point  of  view  to 
the  women,  by  relating  the  advantages  which 
operatives  enjoyed,  and  a  hundred  things  of 
the  comfortable  way  in  which  people  lived 
there.  As  to  the  rest,  they  all  had  passed  some 
bitter  moments  in  that  upon  which  they  were 
now  going  to  turn  their  backs,  and  remembran- 
ces of  a  sad  character,  always  end  in  the  mind 
to  the  prejudice  of  the  places  they  recall. — 
And  when  these  are  our  native  places,  those 
remembrances  perhaps  contain  something  harsh 
and  poignant.  Even  the  infant,  says  the  ma- 
nuscript, reposes  willingly  upon  the  breast 
of  the  nurse,  and  seeks  with  avidity  and  con- 
fidence the  source  which  has  so  sweetly  ali- 
mented it  until  then  ;  but  if  the  nurse,  to  wean 
it,  tinges  it  with  something  bitter,  the  infant 
draws  back  its  lip,  then  tries  again,  but  at 
length  abandons  it,  in  tears  it  is  true,  but  it 
abandons  it. 

What  will  you  say  on  hearing,  that  scarce 
arrived,  and  settled  in  their  new  country,  Ren- 
zo found  some  new  disgusts  already  prepared 
for  him  ?  Miseries  to  be  sure,  but  a  very  small 
matter  can  disturb  a  state  of  happiness.  The 
matter  was  briefly  this  : 

The  talking  there  had  been  about  Lucia 
some  time  before  she  arrived,  the  general 
knowledge  that  Renzo  had  been  very  much 
distressed  about  her,  and  had  always  remained 
constant  and  faithful,  perhaps  too  a  word  or 
two  dropped  from  a  friend  partial  to  him  and 
what  was  dear  to  him,  had  created  some  curi- 
osity to  see  this  young  person,  and  a  great  ex- 
pectation of  her  personal  beauty.  Now  you 
know  very  well  what  expectation  is,  imagina- 
tive, deceptive,  and  confident ;  and  afterwards 
when  results  appear,  how  difficult,  and  spite- 
ful, never  satisfied,  because,  in  fact,  it  never 
knew  what  it  wanted,  and  punishing  itself 
without  pity  for  the  disappointment  it  had  too 
flatteringly  been  the  cause  of.  When  Lucia 
appeared,  many  of  those  who  had  concluded 
her  locks  were  made  of  pure  gold,  her  cheeks 


of  roses,  and  one  of  her  eyes  at  least  hand- 
somer than  the  other,  began  to  shrug  up  their 
shoulders,  and  turn  up  their  noses,  "  Is  this 
her  ?"  said  they,  "  faith,  after  waiting  so  long, 
and  hearing  so  much  said  about  her,  one  might 
have  looked  for  something  better  !  What  is 
she  after  all  ?  A  country  girl,  just  like  all  the 
rest.  Why,  there's  as  good  as  her  and  better 
all  over  the  world.  And  then  one  began  to 
remark  one  defect,  and  another  another,  and 
thera^were  some  who  found  her  quite  ugly. 

BuT  as  no  body  told  Renzo  so  to  his  face, 
there  was  no  great  harm  done  so  far.  They 
who  did  the  evil,  and  widened  the  sore,  were 
some  persons  who  told  him  of  it ;  and  Renzo, 
what  was  to  be  done  ?  was  angry  enough  at 
them.  He  began  to  ruminate  about  it,  and 
make  a  great  stir,  talking  to  some  of  them,  and 
a  great  deal  to  himself. — And  what  is  that  to 

Sju  ?  Who  told  you  to  expect  so  much  ? — 
id  I  ever  tell  you  so  ?  did  I  ever  say  she  was 
handsome  ?  And  when  you  talked  to  me  about 
it,  did  I  ever  give  you  any  other  answer,  than 
that  she  was  a  good  young  girl.i  She  is  a 
country  girl !  Did  I  ever  tell  you  that  I  was 
going  to  bring  you  a  princess  here  ?  You  dont 
like  ner  ?  very  well,  dont  look  at  her !  You 
have  handsome  women  here,  look  at  them. 

And  just  see  how  a  trifling  matter  some- 
times decides  the  whole  life  ot  man.  If  Ren- 
zo had  passed  his  whole  life  there,  according 
to  his  first  intention,  he  would  have  had  very 
little  comfort.  From  disliking  the  people,  he 
at  last  came  to  be  disliked  himself.  He  be- 
haved uncourteously  to  every  body,  because 
every  one  might  be  one  of  Lucia's  critics. — 
He  had  a  sort  of  sardonic  way  of  doing  every 
thing,  finding  something  to  criticise  in  every 
direction,  so  that  if  even  the  weather  was  bad 
two  days  running,  he  was  sure  to  say,  "  what 
can  you  expect  in  this  country  ?"  He  was  now 
disliked  by  a  great  many  of  those,  who,  when 
he  first  came  into  the  country,  were  his  friends, 
and  in  time,  what  with  one  thing  and  another, 
he  would  have  been  almost  in  a  state  of  hosti- 
lity with  the  whole  population,  without  per- 
haps his  being  able  to  assign  the  original  cause, 
or  find  the  root  of  so  much  bad  feeling. 

But  it  may  be  said  the  plague  had  taken  up- 
on itself  to  compensate  all  his  vexations.  It 
had  carried  off  the  proprietor  of  another  fila- 
ture situated  almost  at  the  gates  of  Bergamo ; 
and  the  heir,  a  wild  young  fellow,  finding  no- 
thing in  the  whole  building  to  amuse  himself 
with,  had  thought,  and  indeed  was  desirous  of 
selling  at  half  price,  but  he  wanted  the  cash 
down,  that  he  might  immediately  employ.it  in 
something  not  quite  as  productive.  The  mat- 
ter having  come  to  Bartolo's  ears,  he  went  to 
look  at  the  place,  and  entered  into  a  negocia- 
tion.  More  advantageous  terms  it  was  impos- 
sible to  hope  for,  but  that  condition  of  cash 
down  spoiled  every  thing,  for  his  capital,  being 
made  of  small  savings,  was  far  from  coming  up 
to  the  necessary  sum.  Without,  therefore,  let- 
ting the  bargain  fall  through,  he  returned  has- 
tily, communicated  the  aflair  to  his  cousin,  aud 


1  PROMESS1  SPOSI. 


249 


proposed  they  should  purchase  injpartnership. 
Such  a  good  chance,broughtall  the  economical 
deliberations  ofRenzo  to  a  close,  who  instantly 
resolved  to  employ  his  capital  in  silk  spinning, 
and  assented.  They  now  returned  together, 
and  the  bargain  was  concluded.  When  the 
new  proprietors  took  possession  of  their  pro- 
perty, Lucia,  who  had  created  no  anticipations, 
not  only  did  not  become  exposed  to  criticisms, 
but  was  not  disliked,  and  it  came  to  Renzo's 
ears  that  several  persons  had  said,  "  have  you 
seen  that  handsome  baggiana  that's  cotne?" — 
The  adjective  here  carried  the  substantive 
through. 

And  even  the  disgust  he  had  received  in  the 
other  place,  was  a  useful  lesson  to  him  in  the 
mastering  of  his  temper.  Previous  to  that 
time  he  had  indulged  in  a  rash  habif  of  giving 
his  opinion  about,  and  criticising  other  men's 
wives,  and  indeed  every  thing.  Now  he  com- 
prehended that  words  produce  one  effect  in  the 
mouth  and  another  in  the  ears,  and  adopted 
the  practice  of  weighing  in  future  the  import 
of  his  own,  before  he  uttered  them. 

You  must  not  imagine,  however,  that  there 
was  not  some  small  fastidious  matter  here. — 
Man,  (says  our  anonymous  author,  and  you' 
already  know  by  experience  that  he  had  a 
rather  strange  taste  in  his  similies,  but  you 
must  bear  with  him  a  little,  for  this  is  likely 
to  be  the  last)  whilst  he  is  in  this  world,  is  an 
invalid  lying  upon  a  bed  more  or  less  easy,  and 
sees  around  him  other  beds,  neatly  and  smooth- 
ly arranged,  and  he  thinks  they  would  all  be 
very  soft  and  easy.  But  if  he  succeeds  in  ef- 
fecting a  change,  scarce  has  he  got  into  the  new 
one,  and  begun  to  press  it,  than  he  has  a  fea- 
ther pricking  him  here,  and  feels  a  hard  place 
there,  in  fact,  it  turns  out  to  be  pretty  much 
the  same  thing  over  again.  And  for  this  rea- 
son, adds  he,  we  ought  to  think  more  of  doing 
well,  than  of  being  well,  and  then  we  should 
end  by  being  better  off.  The  figure  has  been 
nauled  up  with  the  capstan  a  little,  and  is  a 
good  specimen  of  the  secentista  style,  but  he 
is  right  at  bottom.  As  to  the  rest,  he  conti- 
nues :  sorrows  and  troubles  of  the  force  and 
quality  of  those  we  have  narrated,  did  not  fall 
to  the  lot  of  our  good  people  any  more  ;  from 
that  moment  life  passed  placidly  with  them, 
and  was .  of  the  happiest,  and  most  enviable 
kind,  so  much  so,  that  if  it  was  to  be  minutely 
related,  it  would  annoy  you  to  death. 

Business  went  on  very  well ;  at  the  begin- 
ning there  was  some  difficulty,  on  account  of 
the  scarcity  of  operatives,  and  the  pretensions 
of  the  few  who  were  left.  Regulations  were 
published  limiting  the  price  of  manufactures, 
but  in  spite  of  this,  these  began  to  do  well  again, 
because  in  the  end  that  must  be  the  case. — 
Another  order  came  from  Venice  somewhat 
more  discreet,  an  exemption  for  ten  years, 
from  all  taxes  upon  real  and  personal  estate 
32 


belonging  to  foreigners  who  came  to  dwell 
in  the  Venetian  states.  This  was  another 
cockaigne  for  our  friends. 

Before  the  first  year  of  their  marriage  was 
completed,  a  beautiful  little  creature  came  into 
the  world,  and  as  if  it  had  been  done  on  pur- 
pose to  give  Renzo  an  opportunity  to  fullfil  his 
magnificent  promise,  it  was  a  girl,  and  you  may 
suppose  whether  it  was  called  Maria  or  not. 
In  the  course  of  time,  Heaven  knows  how 
many  more  came,  of  both  sexes,  and  there  you 
might  see  Agnes  carrying  them  about,  one  af- 
ter the  other,  calling  them  bad  little  things, 
and  giving  them  such  smacks  in  their  little 
cheeks,  that  she  made  large  white  places  in 
them  for  some  time  afterwards.  They  were 
all  very  well  disposed  to  be  good,  and  Renzo 
was  desirous  they  should  all  be  taught  to  read 
and  write,  for  since  such  roguery  existed,  he 
said,  they  might  as  well  know  how  to  take 
advantage  of  it. 

But  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  him  relate  his 
adventures,  for  he  always  ended  by  speaking 
of  the  great  things  he  had  learnt  to  govern  him- 
self better  for  the  future.  "I  have  learnt," 
said  he,  "  not  to  get  into  mobs,  I  have  learnt  not 
to  preach  to  the  people  in  the  streets,  I  have 
learnt  to  drink  no  more  than  I  want,  I  have 
learnt  not  to  hold  people's  knockers  in  my 
hand,  when  there  are  hot-headed  people  about ; 
I  have  learnt  not  to  buckle  little  bells  to  my 
feet,  before  I  thought  what  might  grow  out  of 
it."  And  a  hundred  other  things. 

Lucia,  though  she  did  not  find  her  husband's 
doctrine  false,  was  not  quite  satisfied  with  it, 
it  seemed  to  her,  in  a  confused  sort  of  way, 
that  something  was  wanting.  Hearing  the 
old  song  repeated,  and  meditating  about  it, 
"  I,"  said  she,  one  day  to  her  moralist,  "  what 
ought  I  to  have  learnt  ?  I  did  not  go  to  seek 
misfortune,  it  came  of  itself  to  seek  me,  unless 
you  should  say,  added  she,  sweetly  smiling, 
that  my  mistake  that  I  made,  was  in  liking 
you,  and  promising  to  marry  you." 

Renzo,  at  first,  was  puzzled.  After  some 
reflection  and  discussion  together,  they  con- 
cluded that  troubles  will  come  to  us,  whatever 
may  be  the  cause  of  them,  and  that  the  most 
cautious  and  innocent  conduct  does  not  se- 
cure us  from  them;  but  that  when  they  do 
come,  by  our  fault  or  not,  faith  in  God  will 
soften  them  and  render  them  useful  towards 
attaining  a  better  life.  This  conclusion,  al- 
though arrived  at  by  poor  people,  has  appear- 
ed to  us  so  just,  that  we  have  determined  to 
place  it  here,  as  the  essence  of  the  whole 
story. 

The  which,  if  it  has  given  you  any  pleasure, 
you  will  feel  kindly  disposed  to  our  anonymous 
author,  and  in  a  small  degree  to  his  editor. — 
But  if,  instead  of  that,  we  have  annoyed 
you,  be  assured  we  have  not  done  it  on  pur- 
pose. 


THE  END. 


f 

/ 

4 


R 


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405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


QL  OCT  1  8 
JG  14 1993 


Series  9482 


TE 


3  1205  00836  5114 


